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^^ A. M. P. G. ^^ 

Spring Hill Review 

Spring Hill College, 



Commercial Printing Company, 
Mobile, Ala. 



Christ, The Ransomer. Verse B. Farrell 1 

Christmas in Many Lands 3 

The Lee Circle F. Du Rocher 7 

Friends Once More Joseph M. Walsh, '03 10 

Leo XIII. Latin Verse C. M. W. 21 

General Joseph W. Burke, LL. D Henry A. McPhillips, '00 22 

The Bard of Avon Henry Leon Sarpy, '00 24 

Rev. Francis De Sales Gautrelet, S. J Joseph L. Danos, '00 27 

A Peep into Irving's Sketch-Book Frank Giuli, '04 29 

To My Mother. Verse Louisiana, '87 31 

Dire Revenge Fred Solis, '00 32 

John Henry Greenwood Sam. Apperious, '00 37 

The Heliotrope. Verse J.Irving 38 

A Little Learning P. Antonin Lelong, '00 39 

The Sanctuary Light. Verse Alabama 43 

The Use of Oratory J. Douglas O'Brien. '00 44 

A Girl's Heroism Edward B. Dreaper, '02 46 

Father Ryan Tisdale J. Touart, '01 48 

The Nebular Hypothesis P. Antonin Lelong, '00 52 

Picturesque Spring Hill Jos. V. Kearns, Jr., '95 56 

Patricii Henry Oratio Philippica Tisdale J. Touart, '01 59 

One Ghost Found Out C. Andre" Lelong, '01 60 

Three Familiar Faces— Professors Joseph Bloch, Paul C. Boudousquie" 

and August J. Staub 63 

A Sailor Hero. A Ballad John H. Ryan, '01 65 

Through the United States in a Balloon Clarence A. Costello, '04 66 

A Triple Glory Jules M. Burguieres, '00 69 

Brother John Mengus, S. J Wallace Prejean, '00 72 

His Mother's Rosary Maximin D. Touart, '03 73 

Sunset on Christmas Eve. Verse C. Andre" Lelong, '01 79 

Visit of a Spring Hill Student to Ste. Anne de Beaupr£..Jas. L. Darragh, '00 79 

The Hero-Apostle of the East Carl A. Braun, '01 81 

The Hygienic Advantages of Spring Hill College L. D. Thomas, M. D. 84 

Zacharias Jack J. McGrath, '02 86 

A Trip to Fort Morgan Jean A. Boudousqui^, '03 92 

Two Ways Owen E. McDonnell, '02 94 

A Question and Its Answer. Verse 1901 95 

The Last Night in Old Spring Hill George S. McCarty, '01 96 

The Thundering Legion Robert A. Flautt, '03 99 

Jerusalem R. Herbert Smith, '01 101 

A Mexican Bull-Fight Joseph A. Schnaider, '04 103 

Origin of the Junior Brass Band Edward B. Dreaper, '02 105 

Old Spring Hill Boys - 106 

Away from Dixie. Verse Harry A. Esnard, '00 108 

Unfurl That Banner. Verse Louisiana, '87 109 

Editorial 110 

College Notes Ill 

Athletics 121 

Alumni 125 

Spring Hill — Acrostic 127 

Spring Hill Review, 

Vol. II. JANUARY 1st, 1900. No. 1. 




u ] y> 


N V^-=^ 

"And I have heard their groaning and am come down to deliver 
them."— Acts vii : 34. 

u N Roman dungeons have I borne 

■*■ These chains, ten years a slave ! 
Ten thousand slaves with me, forlorn, 

Are crushed, and none to save! 
Avenging God! our bondage end, 

These prison gates unbar! 
Another Spartacus, oh, send, 

To lead a servile war! 
And marshall'd here, our swelling hordes 

Will troop from Spain and Gaul: 
With Roman blood we'll dye our swords; 

For Freedom strike or fall!" 


^hy dream, poor slave, is passion's child, 
And frenzy rules thy brain; 
Yield not to fever'd thoughts and wild- 

All human hopes are vain. 
Hark, captive, hark! O'er Bethlehem's hill 

May'st hear hosannas sound, 
May'st hear angelic voices thrill 

Judea's mountains 'round. 
O er Bethlehem's hill, like roseate stars, 

God's seraphs throng the skies, 
E'en now the splendor thro' these bars 

Has flashed upon thine eyes. 

^ h' Avenger whom thy heart, poor slave, 
Hath called in transport wild, 
Thy God, is stretched in Bethlehem's cave, 

A helpless, weeping child. 
And yet His eyes have marked thy woes; 

His ears have heard thy sighs; 
His infant hands will crush thy foes: 

In Christ's name, slave, arise! 
Pris'ner, in love then bend the knee! 

A God the thrall will save; 
To give thee, slave, thy libertv, 

A God becomes a slave! 

— B. Farrell. 

@hpi§tn->a§> ir? jffany ©and§. 

pHBISTMAS stories, books, es- 
^- says and poems are numerous 
in the land ; and this is right, for 
the Child who gave us Christmas, 
brought with Him new and beau- 
tiful ideals, and the mind of genius 
conceiving of their purer inspira- 
tion, gave birth to a fairer off- 
spring than was ever born of her 

Yet there is not in all literature 
a more graphic description of any 
Christmas, or more touching, than 
those few simple words of the 
Evangelist, all alight with the 
glow of inspiration, that picture 
for us the first Christmas night in 
Bethlehem.. The Virgin and Child 
and Joseph in that open cave, the 
angels' song, the shepherds' won- 
der and their simple faith — all 
these are to the simple-minded 
and the pure of heart, the source 
of true poetic inspiration. This 
a poet of the Middle Ages ex- 
presses simply but beautifully: 

"Parvum quandocernis Deum 

Matris inter brachia 
Colliquescit pectus meura 

Inter mille gaudia." 

"When I see the Infant God 
In His Mother's arms that lies, 

All my hardened heart is thawed, 
Glowing with a thousand joys." 

Christmas, the Mass of Christ! 
The very name of the first of 
Christian feasts commemorates a 
practice that is distinctively and 
essentially Catholic. The fact is 

that the Feast of the Nativity was 
called Christmas when the Mass 
was said throughout England, and 
the English were a Catholic peo- 

Christmas, the Children's festi- 
val ! the feast of the Christ-Babe's 
little brothers ! season of pure 
holy joy, ever linked in our minds 
with visions of good old Santa 
Claus and his much-prized gifts ! 
How can we sing its gaieties, how 
can we pen its beauties, so touch- 
ing yet simple, so varied the wide 
world over! 

In America Santa Claus is as fa- 
miliar to us as Christmas; more so 
perhaps to the younger portion of 
us. Thousands of happy children 
throughout the land whose papas 
and mammas do not believe in the 
power of the saints call on Santa 
Claus with unwavering faith to 
fill their stockings on Christmas 
night. This that good saint, in his 
big-hearted generosity, never fails 
to do — with the connivance of said 
papas and mammas. 

Now, Santa Claus is neither 
myth, fairy or hobgoblin, but a real 
saint, whose feast is celebrated on 
the sixth of December, and who is 
known and honored throughout 
Europe as the children's Friend. 

St. Nicholas — for Santa Claus is 
an abbreviation— was Archbishop 
of Myra, in Lycia, where he died in 
342, A. D. He was one of the Arch- 
bishops that condemned the Arian 


heresy at the Council of Nice, and 
he suffered and was imprisoned 
for the faith. Pilgrims flocked to 
his tomb, where many miracles 
were wrought, and when the Mos- 
lem overran Lycia, the Christians 
translated his bones to Bari in 
Italy, where they are still treas- 
ured. He was known during life 
for his charity to the poor, and be- 
ing as humble as he was good, he 
was wont to go around disguised 
on Christmas night and throw in 
through the windows of the poor, 
money and gifts to make their 
Christmas happy. 

Though Saint Nicholas is hon- 
ored throughout Europe, he is 
particularly celebrated in Germa- 
ny and Belgium, in his character 
of Gift-maker. On Saint Nicho- 
las' Eve, a man in disguise goes 
from house to house and rings a 
bell at the window. Then the 
children hush, the window opens, 
and he throws in nuts, apples, 
candies, and sweetmeats of all 
sorts, and hobbles off undercover 
of the scramble that ensues. In 
some localities he enters to see 
that the children behave with due 

The Belgian Santa Clans is 
more dignified. He is dressed in 
white, wears a red cap, is accom- 
panied by two servants, and rides 
on a donkey. The children have 
ready plates of food which Santa 
Claus, on his arrival, orders his 
servants to empty into his saddle- 
bags for his donkey. Then he 
fills the plates with gifts, presents 
them to the expectant children, 
and departs in state. 

A few weeks later all get ready 
for the coming of the Christ-Kind- 
lein (Christ-Child). On Christmas 
Eve the children begin at dusk to 
pray with all their might. Soon 
there is a knock at the door and a 
white-robed figure enters. All cry 
with reverential awe, "The Christ- 
Kindlein !" The figure asks, in a 
sweet, low tone: "Are the children 
good?" If the mother answers 
"Yes," he throws in cakes, nuts, 
candies, etc. But if she says 
"No,' 7 which, by the way, a Bel- 
gian mother is not afraid to do, 
then he throws in a rod, "and 
leaves them all lamenting." The 
application of this rod during the 
year is supposed to quality the 
children to receive gifts next 

Now we shall leave the banks of 
the Ehine and Scheldt, and see 
how they keep Christmas on the 
Guadalquivir. Come with me to a 
midnight Mass in an humble Span- 
ish village. You could not sleep 
anyhow, for the bells are ringing, 
and a hundred instruments are 
playing, and a thousand children 

Pastures que apacenteis 

En laurillita del rio, 
Venir corriendo, vereis 

Al Nifio racien nacido. 

Ye shepherds who watch o'er your folds 
In the groves by the stream till the 

Come running and you will behold 
The sweet-smiling Infant new-horn. 

Going out, we find night has 
vanished, for every cottage is all 
aglow with light, and there are 
torches in a thousand hands. You 


join the crowd which soon breaks 
out into another soog : 

Pastores venir, pastores llegar, 

Adorar al Nifio, Que ha nacido ya. 
Ye shepherds come hither, ye shep- 
herds draw nigh, 
To adore the Christ-child who is born 
for us now. 

Lo ! in answer to their call ap- 
pears a troop of real shepherds 
from the neighboring hills and 
plains, all playing musical instru- 
ments, flutes, chalumeaux, ocari- 
nos, castanets, tambourines and 
pastoral pipes of every descrip- 
tion. They head the procession 
and all march to the church, play- 
ing and singing at intervals. En- 
tering the church we march 
straight to the crib. While we 
are trying to catch a glimpse of 
El Nino, and Mary and Joseph 
bending over Him, the whole con- 
gregation cry out: 

Angeles bajar y ver 

Al Rey de cielo y tierra, 

Que ha nacido en Beleu. 

Come down ye angels and behold 
The King of heaven and of earth, 
Who was born in Bethlehem. 

At once the angels appear and 
chant: "Peace on earth to men of 
good will," and repeat the invita- 
tion to the shepherds already re- 

Immediately the shepherds take 
their places around Mary and the 
Child, and sing: "Yenite Adore- 
mus," and simple Spanish songs 
of adoration. Then all kneel 
down. You will find a Spanish 
grandee on one side of you and a 
peasant on the other. 

The clergy enters and solemn 
High Mass is sung, the whole con- 
gregation being the choir. At the 
offertory a silver salver is pre- 
sented to the Alcalde, or mayor of 
the village, on which he deposits 
his baton of office, thus resigning 
his authority to his Lord and Mas- 

Not until the three Masses are 
concluded do the people stir, for 
your true Spaniard has well- 
trained knees and always some- 
thing to say to his God. When 
the clergy leave, one of the shep- 
herds rises and standing beside 
the crib, addresses the crowd, tak- 
ing for his text the Child within. 
A flood of simple, soul-stirring 
eloquence sometimes surges from 
these shepherds' hearts, and the 
people kneel in tears and sing an- 
other hymn, often many hymns, to 
El Nino. At length all depart 

We've seen the Child in Bethlehem's 

The King who's come the world to 

He'll stay with us forevermore, 
Go ye all and Him adore. 

AVhen they arrive at their homes 
they partake of the "tnrron," the 
traditional Spanish Christmas 
cake, of which almonds are a large 

Oue should think that the 
Christmas celebration was now 
over. But not so, for the Spanish 
peasants, to whom El Nino is as 
real and present as their own chil- 
dren, spend the whole day in 
doing Him honor. The church is 



thronged again in the evening, for 
then comes " la adoracion del 
Nino." Benediction over, the 
shepherds sing once more, while 
the priest, attended by a train of 
children, all in white, carries El 
Nino from the crib to the altar 
rail. Here both old and young 
come devoutly forward to kiss 
and embrace the child, "Adorar 
al Nino." 

Leaving the church with a final 
hymn, they wish each other 
"Buena Noche," "Good night," a 
salutation peculiar to Christmas, 
for on all other nights of the year 
they say, "Buenas tardes," "Good 

Then the people return to their 
homes with, I fancy, the same joy 
that the shepherds of Bethlehem 
felt when they left the stable. 
Surely this is Christmas, the 
Christmas that the angels sing. 
It truly brings "peace and joy" to 
many a Spanish home. 

The Italian and Austrian peas- 
ants celebrate their Christmas 
much like their Spanish brothers, 
with like simplicity and faith. In 
France, as in all Catholic coun- 
tries, the Midnight Mass is a spe- 
cial feature, but otherwise New 
Year appears to have eclipsed 
Noel (Christmas.) It was not so 
in the seventeenth century, for the 
French Noel of that period is still 
preserved on our continent in 
Canada, whither the Breton and 
Norman peasants carried it when 
they left their native land. 

There the shepherds still enact 
the scene of Bethlehem, playing 
and singing around the crib: 

"Allons bergers, allons tous, 

L'Ange nous appelle. 

Un Sauveur est ne - pour nous ! 

L'heureuse nouvelle ! 

Une stable est le s£jour 

Qu'a choisi ce Dieu d'Amour. 
Come ye shepherds, come ye all, 
Angels summon us from high, 
There's born for us a Saviour small. 
Blessed tidings of great joy ! 
A stable is the home He chose ; 
The God of love is born for us. 

Then one of the shepherds ques- 
tions those who had been to Beth- 
lehem. They reply : 

Sont trois petits anges 

Descendus du ciel, 

Chantant les louanges 

Du Pere eternel ! 
There are three little angels 
Come down from the sky, 
Singing the praise 
Of the Father on high ! 

Then they all shout: 

Courons au, z'au ! z'au ! 

Courons au, courons plus! 

Courons au plus vite 

A cet humble gite ! 
Hurry hither, ho, ho! 
Hurry hither, come, cornel 
Hurry, with all speed 
To this humble home ! 

When they reach it, they bow 
down and play the "hautbois" and 
"musettes," and sing : 

*'Ah ! qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant! 
Ah ! que ses graces sont parfaites ! 
Ah ! qu'il est beau, qu'il est charmant ! 
Qu'il est doux, ce divin enfant!" 
"Ah ! how fair He is, how charming ! 
Ah ! his beauties, how complete ! 
Ah ! how fair He is, how charming ! 
This heavenly child is, oh, how sweet!" 

Having chanted many such 
hymns to the Child, to Mary and 
Joseph, they sing the High Mass 
as in Spain ; nor either in Spain 
or Canada do they think their 



Christmas well spent if they have 
not received their Eucharistie 
God into their hearts. 

In England, Protestantism killed 
the Christian celebration of Christ- 
mas as of many another holy festi- 
val, and the social customs that 
survive are poetically described 
by Irving. They may be prosaic- 
ally summed up in — Yule-log and 

In Ireland, though the Christ- 
mas cribs are not as elaborate as 
in other lands, yet nowhere do 
they display more taste, feeling 
and faith. One of the manj an- 
cient customs which is still kept 
up in some places is the Christ- 
mas Candle. 

A candle, previously blessed, is 
lighted in the window at sunset of 

Christmas-Eve, and kept burning 
till midnight. It is considered a 
profanation to use it for any save 
religious purposes. Gerald Griffin 
thus alludes to it: 

"The Christmas light is burning bright 

In many a village pane, 
And many a cottage rings to-night 

With many a merry strain." 

The houses are decorated with 
holly and ivy interwoven — these 
being deemed typical of the Sa- 
viour's Mission; for 

"The ivy bears a blossom 

As white as lily-flower, 
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ, 

To be our sweet Saviour. 

The holly bears a berry, 

As red as any blood, 
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ, 

To do poor sinners good." 


OF all the points of merely 
human or natural interest to 
be found in the Crescent City, that 
should be visited by every son of 
the South, and that should excite 
the sympathy of a passing stran- 
ger, who, though differing in polit- 
ical opinions, can yet recognize in 
others high qualities and enno- 
bling virtues, I know none that at- 
tracts, moves and thrills one more 
than the Lee Circle. 

Our beautiful cemeteries appeal 
to a wider, a more universal sym- 
pathy, with their grand oaks, sym- 
bols of endless life. Draped with 

funereal moss, significant of sor- 
row, they speak not of to-day, but 
of the eternal to-morrow. 

At the foot of that well-known 
street, that is the main artery of 
the city life, there stands a gran- 
ite column commemorative of the 
September victims; of the victo- 
rious uprising of a proud and in- 
dignant people against a worth- 
less, because a corrupt govern- 
ment, imposed upon a gallant but 
defeated sovereign state by an 
implacable victor. But this was 
a local and a special affair, and in- 
asmuch as it was victorious, it 



lacked that sacred character 
which belongs to unmerited de- 

But, O Son of the South, 
wouldst thou, in this age of mate- 
rialism, of sordid policies and ava- 
ricious greeds, of legal usuries, 
inhale the purer air that thy fore- 
fathers breathed, go to that spot 
'twixt the old and the newer Or- 
leans, where in the morn and noon 
and eve, and in the silent watches 
of the night, the whirring light- 
ning car girdles the circle of Lee: 
Take thy stand by that war-dragon 
which, by the silvery waters of 
Mobile, was the last to belch forth 
fiery protest to the invaders of 
the Southland, and now seems, 
grim and silent sentinel, to stand 
guard over the sacred relics of the 
cause, lost but glorious, jealously 
hoarded in the Memorial Hall. 

On a grassy mound rises a lofty 
white column, emblematic of pure 
and stately honor, and the morn- 
ing sun lends it a golden gleam. 
Thereon, with folded arms, calm, 
self-possessed, as one who reviews 
an army, or confidently watches a 
hard-fought field, stands in heroic 
pose the sculptured form of Kob- 
ert E. Lee, the beau ideal of a pa- 
triot soldier, the living eidolon of 
Southern chivalry. 

He had all the love of a soldier 
for the flag under which he had 
fought and bled, and in the land 
of the Aztec Lee had won high 
honor and rank under the Stars 
and Stripes. But, when the long 
mooted question called for final 
arbitrament, between the para- 
mount right of the Federal gov- 

ernment as against the doctrine of 
State sovereignty, the struggle 
between principle and soldierly 
feeling began. 

He had a great fortune to be 
jeopardized, he was offered the 
supreme command of the Federal 
forces, but when his beloved Vir- 
ginia, the mother of Presidents, 
and of States, exercised her right, 
recorded in her entrance to the 
Federal Union, of seceding there- 
from when to her it seemed right 
and just, and called the sons whom 
she had nurtured to rally to her 
defence, Lee wrenched himself 
away. Fortune might be lost, 
proffered honors foregone, life-ties 
sundered, when duty and true 
honor summoned to the sacrifice, 
and so, reluctantly and painfully, 
as even the martyr goes to the 
conflict, at the voice of Virginia, 

"Forth from its scabbard, pure and 
Flashed the sword of Lee." 

No need to dwell on his mili- 
tary renown, and presumptuous, 
were it on our part to do so, 
since the verdict of profes- 
sional critics, even that of his gal- 
lant foes, is unanimous in his fa- 
vor, especially when the great 
difference between his resources 
and those of his opponents is ta- 
ken into consideration. From the 
Chickahominy to Appomattox, he 
sometimes suffered a check, never 
a defeat. 

His personal character, "totus, 
teres, at que rotundusj' " complete, 
polished, and rounded," lifted him 
far and above the usual level of 
historic chieftains. When Pick- 


ett's division came wavering back 
from Gettysburg Heights, like 
swirling smoke-wreaths from an 
expiring conflagration, he magnan- 
imously estopped all murmurings 
and recriminations by taking on 
himself all possible blame for the 
failure. Ever calm in victory as 
in disaster, he was the Washing- 
ton of the Confederacy. 

And yet, in the direst moment 
of strife and peril, he had the ten- 
derness of a woman, as, when at 
Petersburg, the Federal batteries 
were sweeping as with a besom of 
fire the spot where he stood, and 
his staff by his orders had sought 
a safer position, he himself tarried 
to lift a chirping birdlingthat had 
fallen from a shattered limb and 
restore it to its leafy home. 

At last came the end, long fore- 
seen, when, his veterans decima- 
ted in a hundred battles, hopeless 
of recruits to their shattered 
ranks, faithful still, though, to use 
a Southern phrase, they were worn 
to a "frazzle," his was still the self- 
contained, heroic soul ; conscious 
of having fulfilled his duty, no 
sign of mortified pride, of woman- 
ish plaining, still less of despair 
was noticed in his look or bearing 
as he stood before the victor who 
was to dictate the terms of sur- 
render. Great in victory he was 
greater in defeat, and to him we 
may justly apply the sublime eu- 
logy of the pagan poet : 

"Justum ac tenacem propositi virum, 

Si fractus iliabatur orbis, 
Impavidum ferient ruinae." 

"The just man faithful to his trust, 
though the heavens fall, stands fearless 
amidst the ruins." 

Long may thy statue, O peeiless 
Lee, lift itself above murky vapors 
of sordid gains, and low, mean in- 
trigue, a model and exemplar of 
the true Southern spirit of honor 
and duty ! Long may the war- 
worn veteran, though maimed and 
poor, passing by, salute thee, his 
Commander-in-Chief, as I have 
seen gray-haired priests do, in re- 
cognition of thy manly virtues ! 
Long may the youth of our dear 
Southland, as they stop to gaze, 
register an interior resolution to 
emulate thy example ! And long, 
as the evening glow brightens the 
shafted pillar and lends an aureole 
to thy brow, may merry children, 
whose mothers have taught them 
to lisp thy name, with their joy- 
ous laugh and prattling play en- 
liven thy grassy pedestal ! 

Whilst meditative of the sad 
past and vanished glories, we hear 
the poet's sad strains sound again 
from memory's lyre : 

"Forth from its scabbard all in vain 

Bright flashed the sword of Lee ; 
'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again, 
It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain, 
Defeated, yet without a stain, 
Proudly and peacefully." 

F. Du Rocher. 


[The author of the following story feels called upon to make an apology, or 
at least an explanation, to his readers for introducing so many fisticuffs into his 
narrative. This will readily be understood when we bear in mind that the inci- 
dents described are supposed to have taken place but a little over a decade after 
the Civil War, at a time when the stirring events of '61-'65 were still fresh in 
men's minds and on men's lips. The average school boy of that day was born 
when the roar of artillery had scarcely died away, and he could point with pride 
to older brothers or cousins who had borne arms under Lee, Beauregard or 
Wheeler. Hence, owing to these near associations, the combative spirit was 
strongly rooted in Young Dixie, and the Code of Honor, as interpreted by them- 
selves, was appealed to upon even the most trivial provocation. It was an age of 
Juvenile Chivalry, in which each stripling lived, as it were, with his sword un- 
sheathed, always on the qui vive for an engagement. No difficulty could be set- 
tled, even most superficially, without the old-time "rough-and-tumble" fight.] 


MISS Lelia Burnbam, specta- 
cled and grave, sat upon her 
high-backed chair with all the dig- 
nity and grandeur of a queen, the 
veritable mistress of all she sur- 
veyed. At the urgent solicita- 
tions of the people of Horton, she 
had come from a neighboring town 
to assume absolute management of 
matters educational in the district. 
Eight well, too, did she discharge 
the sacred trust reposed in her. 
She would allow no one, no mat- 
ter what his standing or influence, 
to interfere with her pedagogic 
duties. When once the scholars 
had passed her threshold, they 
were under her sole supervision, 
and woe betide the over-fond 
parent who should unwisely ap- 
pear in her sanctum to demand an 
explanation or lodge a complaint. 
Miss Lelia would calmly but firmly 
point to the door, and that would 
always end the trouble. "Did you 

ever see the like?" was her only 

Exacting yet kind-hearted, se- 
vere yet moderate, ever gentle, 
prudent and painstaking, she was 
a born instructor and disciplina- 
rian. These qualities won the 
love and esteem of all her pupils, 
who, withal, entertained for her a 
feeling of awe and dread ; in con- 
sequence of which, they usually 
hesitated long before rashly viola- 
ting any of the school regulations. 

Behind her chair hung a long 
switch of the well-known and long- 
remembered peach variety, which, 
like an ominous sword of Da- 
mocles, continually threatened the 
youthful delinquent with retribu- 
tion. On her desk lay a half- 
munched apple, some walnuts and 
pecans, orange peeling, some elas- 
tic "fly-shooters," wads of paper, 
top strings, marbles, pop-guns and 
other articles of a genuine school 
boy's commissary, — all of which 
went to show that the scholars of 



Horton were endowed with the 
same instincts and propensities as 
the rest of their species the wide 
world over. 

The noon recess was just ended, 
and the boys were engaged in 
taking a final view of their lessons 
preparatory to the evening recita- 
tion. At the expiration of half an 
hour, Miss Lelia gave the signal to 
"close books," and then the tasks 
began. After the History class 
was over, she called out: "Spell- 
ing for the First Division." About 
twenty boys stood up and ranged 
themselves along the room with 
folded arms, facing the teacher. 
The lesson proceeded very satis- 
factorily, such difficult words as 
homoeopathy, pneumonia and mig- 
nonette, being rattled off with the 
ease of practised lexicographers. 
At length, they were asked to 
spell mnemonics. The head of the 
class, Harry Chilton, made a bold 
guess at it, but struck wide of the 

"Next!" called out Miss Lelia. 
The second boy tried and likewise 
failed. It went down the line 
until it reached the ninth, Johnny 
Perry, who, profiting by the un- 
successful attempts of the others, 
blurted out a combination of let- 
ters which turned out to be the 
correct one. 

"Master John Perry will ascend 
to the head of the class," an- 
nounced the mistress in her most 
pompous tones. Johnny did as 
he was bidden, casting a sidelong 
look of proud disdain at Harry 
Chilton, his friend and rival, as he 
passed him. Harry winced under 

this cut so unexpected, but he said 
nothing and tried to look uncon- 

The lesson proceeded, and the 
words went round, until it came 
to Perry's turn again. 

"Until!" enunciated Miss Lelia, 
Johnny confidently shouted at the 
top of his voice : 

"U-n, un, till, till, Untill!" 

"Next !" 

"U-n,un, til, til ; Until!" cried 
out Harry in triumph, and he 
quietly stepped ahead of the erst- 
while victor, who, crestfallen and 
blushing from ear to ear, found it 
difficult to keep in his resentment. 
Impulsively he whispered some- 
thing to Chilton, who did not ap- 
pear to hear him. 

After asking a few more words, 
difficult and otherwise, Miss Lelia 
delivered herself of her periodical 
oration on the importance of or- 
thography, invariably concluding 
with: "Kemember, boys, it is no 
great honor to spell correctly, but 
an exceeding great dishonor not 
to spell correctly." Then she dis- 
missed them to their places. 

As they were moving off, Johnny 
Perry sidled up to Harry Chilton 
and hissed somethinglike: "Didn't 
you hear what I called you, you 
sissy f You're Miss Lelia'spet, and 
you know it !" Harry flared up at 
this gross insult to his boyhood's 
honor and would have pounced 
upon his faithless friend right 
there and then, had not Tommy 
Mason held him back, saying. 
"Fix him after school, old boy!" 

"All right, Tom !" and he turned 
to Perry, and after making a re- 



mark uncomplimentary to his 
veracity, put in : "I'll settle you 
at three o'clock!" 

"Do you want to fight f de- 
manded Johnny fiercely. 

"I'll show you," answered Harry 
with a look of determination upon 
his countenance. 

It must not be supposed that 
this scene was as long in enact- 
ment as it is in recital. It was 
over in the fraction of time that it 
took the boys to reach their seats. 
Nevertheless, the alert teacher's 
falcon eyes perceived a commo- 
tion, and straightway she rapped 
on her desk for order and silence. 
Everyone looked innocent, even 
the two principals making a su- 
preme effort to appear calm. It 
was a feigned calm that preceded 
a pending storm. 

Three o'clock finally struck. 
The prayer was hurriedly said, 
and all the boys rushed pell-mell 
out of the school room and yard 
to an adjoining lot which served 
as a playground. 

"A Fight! A Fight!" could be 
heard resounding in that crowd of 
excited youths carried away with 
wild expectation of the coming 
event, the more so as the two com- 
batants were known to be excel- 
lent boxers. Harry Chilton, a 
dark-haired, manly lad of eleven, 
was quick and agile, and one of 
the best sprinters in the school; 
while his adversary, about six 
months his senior, though well 
built and stronger, was not so fleet 
of foot nor skillful of hand. All 
in all, weighing their respec- 
tive advantages, they were well 

matched, — Achilles against Hec- 

Not much time was consumed 
in preliminaries. The crowd gath- 
ered together about the pugilists, 
leaving a large open space in the 
middle as a field of operations. 
They were an honorable group, 
determined to see that everything 
was done on the square. 

The two heroes pulled off their 
coats and stepped up boldly to 
each other. After a little sparring, 
they entered the fray in real earn- 
est, each firmly bent on outwitting 
his adversary. No rounds were 
counted; it was simply one con- 
tinuous set-to, the only rule to 
which any heed was paid being : 
"No hitting when down." It 
lasted about five minutes. 

They struck hard and fast blows, 
they clinched and wrestled, they 
feinted and dodged. In the begin- 
ning honors were even, but it very 
soon became evident that Chil- 
ton's quickness and dexterity were 
more than a match for his oppo- 
nent's superior strength. His 
thrusts were truer and more effect- 
ive; he was ever ready to hop out 
of harm's way, ever on the lookout 
to parry a stroke and return it at 
double speed. 

Perry brought all his muscular 
forces into play, but they were of 
no avail against his wily and 
sprightly rival. At length, in the 
midst of cries of "Hurrah for Harry 
Chilton!" and "You've got a 
chance yet, Johnny!" he made a 
wild rush at Chilton, who adroitly 
stepped aside and Perry went 
sprawling to the ground. This 



ended the fight; the latter, unable 
to return to the charge, was led 
off by his friends, while angrily 
exclaiming : 

''You'll pay for this yet, you 
coward !" 

Though not seriously injured, he 
had been badly used up, and his 
otherwise tidy pink shirt, now 
ruffled and torn, gave signs of a 
hard struggle and of final discom- 

Chilton, on the other hand, 
though looking fatigued from his 
great exertion, did not seem to 
have been very roughly handled. 
At any rate his success had the 
effect of brightening up his gen- 
eral appearance. He was heartily 
congratulated by his many friends 
on his neatly won victory. 

'•I knew you would down him," 
said Mason, "and you did it so 
nicely, too. Shake, old boy !" 

"That's all very well," sadly an- 
swered Harry, as, moving off arm 
in arm with his chum, he began to 
realize the full extent of his ac- 
tion, "but I have done wrong in 

"Nonsense! it couldn't be helped 
after everybody heard what Perry 
said. The whole school would 
have called you a coward, if you 
had backed out." 

"Still that does not change the 
situation. When Father Stanford 
hears that I have been fighting, he 
will suspend me from the First 
Communion Class, and that will 
break mother's heart. Besides, I 
have lost a good friend and for- 
feited the esteem of my teacher by 
my meanness." 

"Don't worry about that, Harry; 
you simply had it to do." With 
these words and a parting "Good- 
bye," the friends separated, as 
Chilton had reached his home. 

His mother was unwell, and his 
father was absent on business, so 
being an only child, there was 
nobody to whom he could com- 
municate his gloomy thoughts on 
his day's doings. This was a great 
privation, as he was invariably 
wont to unbosom all his plans and 
achievements, his joys and his 
troubles to his best and truest of 
confidants, his mother. No won- 
der then that his heart was heavy 
and his soul burdened as he fell 
asleep that night. 


Up to this deplorable mishap, 
Harry Chilton and Johnny Perry 
had been on the most intimate 
terms of companionship. Living 
in adjoining houses and playing 
together as far back as they could 
remember, they naturally became 
closely attached to each other. 

Their families, however, occu- 
pied different spheres in life and 
seldom came into social contact. 
Johnny's father, who died when he 
was little more than a baby, had 
been an engineer, while Mr. Chil- 
ton, now keeping a country store, 
belonged to a family which in the 
good old days had lived like 
princes on their boundless acres 
of rich cotton land. Though re- 
duced in fortune, he still retained 
a marked degree of high- born 
pride, which made him exclusive 
in his choice of company. 



Yet, for all this, he had never 
raised the slightest objection to 
his son's associating with the 
Perrys, of whom, besides the 
mother, there Avere two, Johnny 
and his genial ten-year-old sister, 
May. The three spent many a 
happy summer's day frolicking 
under the large pecan tree in the 
pasture which separated their 
homes. Oftentimes, too, did they 
hie themselves to the old grass- 
banked mill-pond to catch perch 
and crawfish, or roam the verdant 
fields together plucking wild 
flowers or gathering nuts, black- 
berries and muscadines! 

But now all this was changed. 
Harry and Johnny did not, as was 
their wont, walk home from school 
together, nor did they meet again 
after dinner to make preparations 
for their morrow's squirrel hunt. 

May, quick-witted and sharp- 
sighted, was the first one to per- 
ceive the difference. As her 
brother entered the front gate 
with his book-satchel and lunch- 
basket thrown carelessly over his 
shoulder, she noticed that Harry 
did not accompany him. Running 
half way down the garden path, 
she was about to inquire after 
their friend, when seeing Johnny's 
battered condition, flushed face 
and torn shirt, she exclaimed with 
sorrowful surprise : 

"What's the matter, Johnny? 
Has somebody — ? Please tell me !" 

"Never mind what's the matter," 
answered he in surly tones, "but 
somebody's going to pay for this!" 

Saying this, he cast a menacing 
look toward the Chilton's. She 

was about to ask, "Who can it 
be?" but noticing his last move- 
ment and coupling this with his 
solitary walk home, she cried out 
in agitation: 

"You don't mean to say that 
Harry Chilton has ill used you, 

"I don't mean — the scamp! — 
Don't bother me !" And he brushed 
May aside and rushed into the 
house. She, poor girl, suspecting 
the whole occurrence and over- 
come with emotion, sat on the 
gallery steps and gave vent to her 
feelings by crying. 

As soon as Mrs. Perry, looking 
up from her sewing, saw Johnny, 
she burst out : 

"Oh, my child! What misfor- 
tune has happened to you?" 

"That mean coward, Harry Chil- 
ton, is the biggest scoundrel that 
ever lived!" and he blurted out 
as best he could in his present dis- 
turbed state of mind, the whole of 
the day's trouble. Of course, as 
was to be expected, he colored his 
narrative in such tints as to make 
himself appear as injured inno- 
cence, and his victorious rival as 
the most cruel and unjust of boy 
creation. In this he succeeded 
but too well ; at the end of his re- 
cital, his mother exclaimed: 

"All right, my boy! The rascal 
will be sorry he ever treated you 
so meanly. He'll fight you in my 
presence to-morrow, and I'll see 
that he has no boys around to 
throw you down and help him 
beat you." 

With this, she dismissed him to 



wash and change and prepare for 

Mrs. Perry was a woman of her 
word. Whenever she threatened 
to do a thing, she seldom failed to 
carry out her menace. She was 
tall and muscular, with a mascu- 
line bearing and cast of features. 
No one ever knowingly thwarted 
her path, for she was quick and 
sure to have vengeance. One of 
the amusements — a rather odd 
one, — to which she devoted her- 
self, was target practice with an 
old army pistol which had be- 
longed to her husband. Since his 
death she had become the sole 
protector of her son and daughter 
and the guardian of her home and 
property. She wanted to be pre- 
pared for an emergency, though 
some people claimed that she en- 
gaged in this unusual sport as a 
hoax to scare away darkies with 
a propensity for poaching. Be 
this as it may, it was certain that 
no vagrant ever molested her or 

That evening the family spent a 
very quiet time. Mrs. Perry was 
fatigued and annoyed and kept to 
her room. Johnny, brooding over 
his defeat, and looking forward to 
the morrow's revenge, retired 
early. May had pleaded sickness 
and gone to bed without supper. 
She spent many a weary hour por« 
ing over the trouble, and heartily 
deploring its occurrence. She 
could not bring herself to lay the 
blame to either side. Finally, af- 
ter much worry and anguish, she 
fell asleep over the determination 
to bring the combatants together 

the next day and reconcile them to 
each other. Little she knew what 
a vain task she was setting herself 
in the face of her mother's coun- 

The following day was Saturday 
and there was no school. Johnny 
awoke with a heavy heart, half re- 
penting of his resolve to have re- 
venge. The world was no longer 
the same to him since he had 
lost his old companion. On his 
way down to breakfast, he was 
musing on his previous day's hap- 
penings, and catching sight of his 
sister's gloomy countenance, he 
inwardly determined to make 
friendly advances to Harry Chil- 
ton. The repast went off unevent- 
fully, and Johnny retired to his 
room as soon as he had finished. 

Shortly afterwards his sister ap- 
peared in the doorway. 

"Id like to say something to 
you, Johnny ?" she asked in a soft, 
plaintive voice. 

"Walk right in, darling. I'm 
feeling mean. Say something to 
cheer me up." 

"I'm coming to talk to you 
about Harry — " 

"John!" Mrs. Perry's voice 
coming from below, cut short 
their conversation. 

"Eight away, mother," he an- 
swered, as he jumped up and 
bounded out of his room. 

He met her at the foot of the 
stairs with bonnet on, as if pre- 
pared for a visit. 

"Come with me, son; I want 
you to pay back Harry Chilton for 
his cowardly attack on you." 



"But, mother, I was in the 
wrong — he didn't — " 

"Hush, boy. I'll never have it 
said that my offspring has been 
bested by one of those haughty, 
self-sufficient Ohiltons. You've 
got to fight that boy, and beat him 
too, or I'll turn you out of doors. 
None of your excuses now." 

Johnnie saw there was nothing 
to be done but to acquiesce. What 
a wrenching of heart he experi- 
enced! Just when on the point 
of making up his mind to apolo- 
gize to his friend, his mother com- 
mands him to renew hostilities. 
His better nature at first revolted 
against such a proceeding — but, 
then, he yielded to circumstances, 
and his former desire for revenge, 
like smothered embers, suddenly 
rekindled into flame, rose up 
strong and ardent within his 

"A chance to pay him back ! 
Shall I miss it? Revenge, how 
sweet ! I will !" 

No further word of protest es- 
caped his lips. He silently fol- 
lowed whither his mother led. Ar- 
rived under the pecan tree, she 
signalled to Harry Chilton, who 
was whittling on his back-door 

"I want to see you for a minute, 
Harry." There was nothing unu- 
sually harsh or spiteful in her 

The boy moved over towards 
the tree, thinking, perhaps, that 
the mother of his defeated friend 
was bent on the noble mission of 
reconciliation, or, at least, not 
suspecting her real object in sum- 

moning him. Still, no matter what 
his reflections, he would not have 
hesitated to do her bidding, for his 
awe and dread of her exercised a 
complete mastery over him. 

Hardly had he reached the pair 
when Mrs. Perry grasped him by 
the arm, and bringing him face to 
face with her son, said with a sar- 
castic sneer : 

"So you whipped Johnnie at 
school, eh? Now fight him again, 
right here before me, and we'll see 
what you can do by yourself." 

Without uttering a word Harry, 
trembling in every limb, stood up 
against his conquered Opponent of 

"Now, John ! — Fight him Harry, 
without the assistance of the other 
boys!" exclaimed this Amazonian 
mistress of ceremonies, and John- 
ny, with an ill-concealed glare of 
satisfied spite in his eyes, pro- 
ceeded to do her behest. He re- 
coiled slightly as he faced his for- 
mer friend. Was not this present 
act the height of meanness and 
cowardice. After all, the fight 
in which he had been worsted 
was a perfectly fair contest; but 
this! — Never mind; revenge is 
sweet ! — 

They met! Harry did not be- 
lieve that Perry would avail him- 
self of such a base advantage ; but 
he was goaded on to it — he lost 
control of himself. 

"Courage, my son ! Show him 
you can take care of yourself, 
when there are not too many 
leagued against you." 

There was no fighting in the pro- 
per sense of the word. Harry 



was too much intimidated to do 
more than partly shield himself 
from the vicious blows of his 
muscular adversary. He soon suc- 
cumbed before them, falling to the 
ground almost helpless. Johnny, 
guided by his manly instincts, 
would not hit his opponent when 
down, not even when roused to 
fury by his mother. 

Harry finally arose. He was 
badly bruised and feeling sick 
from fright and ill-usage. 

"That's enough," called out Mrs. 
Perry, when she saw that her son 
met with no resistance in his bul- 
lying methods, "let him go. You 
don't find it pleasant to receive a 
thrashing, do you Harry V J 

The victimized Harry betook 
himself home, making angry reflec- 
tions on the dastardly conduct of 
one whom he once esteemed as a 
friend. Though before this event 
he had been anxious to renew 
their companionship, his heart was 
now steeled against any such he- 
roic desire. 

There was one spectator, by no 
means disinterested, of this one- 
sided contest. Seeing unseen 
May Peny, from a window at 
home, had watched the unjust 
proceedings under the pecan tree 
until she saw her brother knock 
Harry down. Then, unable to 
witness any more, she said des- 

"To think that instead of making 
friends again, they a re just widen- 
ing the breach by fighting! Why 
doesn't mother stop them % What 
shall I do!" And she buried her 
face in her hands and turned her 

head aw r ay from the unpleasant 


Sunday morning came. Harry 
and Johnny went to Mass, but not 
together in the old friendly way. 
The former escorted his mother, 
the latter joined some acquaint- 
ances. Everv one noticed the es- 
trangement, and commented on it. 
May stayed at home to nurse her 
mother, who was unwell. Mrs. 
Perry was not a church-goer. 

After Mass was over, Father 
Stanford held his First Commun- 
ion Class. Harry Chilton was in 
attendance, not so Johnny Perry, 
who, expecting trouble, absented 
himself without leave. 

When all the boys were seated, 
Father Stanford called for a framed 
card, which hung on the wooden 
column next to the pulpit. Ad- 
justing his spectacles, he slowly 
and deliberately read as follows : 

"Rules for the First Communion 

"Rule V. — Any one who en- 
gages in a fight or brawl, or other- 
wise gravely misconducts himself 
in public, will be suspended from 
the class." 

Quietly lifting his eyes, he re- 
marked : 

"The w T ords are plain enough. 
Harry Chilton will please walk 
out. With him is also suspended 
his fellow T -combatant, John Perry, 
absent to-day without leave — an 
additional offence." 

Harry, flushed with shame, and 
stung to the quick by this igno- 
minious dismissal, stood up and 



nervously made his way to the 
dod*. His class-mates showed 
signs of sorrow and sympathy for 
him, for he was a favorite among 
them. But the rules had to be 
enforced ; and Father Stanford, 
kind and gentle as he was, did not 
propose to stand by and see them 
violated with impunity. He knew, 
too, what a powerful check they 
exercised on the animal spirits of 
boys preparing for the Great 
Event of their youthful lives. 

When Harry reached home, 
wearing a sad, dejected look, his 
mother immediately addressed 
him : 

"You are home early to-day, my 
darling. I hope you have not met 
with any accident. What makes 
you so sorrowful V 7 - 

"Oh, mother ! I am wretched ! 
I — I— don't know what to do with 
myself!" And he broke down 
completely, and sobbed on his 
mother's breast. 

"Come, now! don't cry so, my 
son! Tell your mother all about 
it, like a good boy," pleaded Mrs. 
Chilton in her most endearing 

After a little coaxing, Harry 
blurted out: 

"I've been suspended from the 
First Communion Class for fight- 
ing. Oh, mother, I know it will 
break your heart!" 

This announcement startled 
her, struck her like a thunderbolt; 
she was not prepared to face a 
disgrace to the family. Fortu- 
nately, Mr. Chilton was away, or 
things would have assumed a 
much gloomier aspect. 

As it was, she braced herself as 
bravely as she could under the 
blow, but could not altogether 
repress her tears. She wept with 
her son while offering words of 
consolation and encouragement. 
After calming down a little, she 

"Now, tell me all the trouble, 
my son. Why did you hide your 
difficulties from me f" 

"I knew you were sick and suf- 
fering, and I was afraid to make 
you worse. You know I always 
trust you, mother." 

"I believe you, Harry; but, how 
did you get into this woeful com- 
plication 1 Tell me " 

He complied with her request; 
and, beginning with the Friday 
evening fight, narrated everything 
which had occurred up to his dis- 
missal from the First Communion 
Class. His mother was very much 
agitated, and when he concluded, 
she asked: 

"Is there no chance of your be- 
ing readmitted into the class 1 I 
will see Father Stanford myself." 

"There is no use, unless I make 
it up with Johnny Perry, and I am 
afraid I can never do that after his 
meanness of yesterday." 

"Yes, you can, Harry; and I am 
sure you will. Do you not recol- 
lect the sublime words which 
Father Stanford chose for his text 
this morning: 'Do good to them 
that hate you, that you may be the 
children of your Father who is in 
Heaven.' Remember this is our 
Lord speaking to you." 

"I know well, mother ; but you 
can't imagine how hard it is. Oh, 



why did T ever get into this trou- 
ble 1» 

"Courage, my son, courage; be a 
man and pray to St. Joseph for 
the spirit of forgiveness." 

Just at this moment Melindy 
Ann came in from the kitchen 
with a note, saying: 

"Zeke Brown's lil boy, Sammy, 
done brought dis hyah lettah fo' 
Mars 7 Harry. He 'low it come 
fum Miss May, cross de pasture." 

Sure enough, as soon as Harry 
opened the small unaddressed en- 
velope, he saw May's crude yet 
delicate handwriting. He read 
aloud to his mother as follows: 

"Dear Harry: Don't think I hate 
you because of your trouble with 
Johnny. I am the same to you as 
if nothing had ever happened. 
Try to make it up with him. I'll 
do all I can to help along. 

May Perry." 

"Now, my son, will you hesitate 
to do what is right?" asked Mrs. 
Chilton, in a half-smiling manner. 

"Please don't make me feel bad, 
mother; it's hard, but Til try? 1 
Here the matter dropped for the 
time being. 

The next day Harry and John- 
ny, still at odds with each other, 
went to school as usual. Here 
another humiliation awaited them, 
for Miss Lelia announced from 
her desk, in most solemn words, 
that they were guilty of disgrace- 
ful and ungentlemanly conduct in 
public, and would both be dealt 
with severely. They received 
their punishment in due time, but 
it did not serve much to mend 
matters. They still kept apart, 

and, as the other boys expressed 
it, were not on speaking terms. 

Tuesday came, and there was no 
change in the situation; likewise 
so did Wednesday and Thursday, 
and it looked as if they would re- 
main enemies for good. Their 
friends were beginning to con- 
sider their mutual disregard as 

On Friday they marched off to 
school, and everything went on as 
customary. Three o'clock at last 
struck, books were packed, and 
the boys were soon scampering 

Johnny Perry and Harry Chil- 
ton walked apart, as they had done 
ever since their falling out. The 
former was somewhat in the lead. 
As they passed by a negro cabin, 
nearly half a mile from his home, 
three young darkies of about his 
own age jumped from behind the 
fence and assaulted him. 

"You'se de feller w'at shot our 
pig fro' de ear, eh 1 Now you'se 
got ter pay fer it, you good-fer- 
nuffin' w'ite trash !" 

And they proceeded to use their 
fists on him without further cere- 
mony. While backing from them, 
he resisted as best he could, but 
it was three to one, and he knew 
he would soon be overpowered. 

Some distance off was Harry 
Chilton. He heard the voices and 
beheld every movement made by 
the blacks. When he saw they 
were attacking his faithless friend, 
his heart leaped with — what ? Joy? 
Kevenge? Had not his time for 
acting meanly arrived ? He could 
assist Perry and save him from a 



terrible beating ! Would be do so? 
He would, for tbough he felt 
strongly, he could not nurture a 
base or cowardly thought. Be- 
sides, Father Stanford's words, his 
mother's request and May's letter 
came back to him like so many in- 
centives to a noble, generous line 
of conduct. 

His decision was quickly taken. 
No one would ever say he stood 
idly by and allowed his former 
friend to be ill used. With' a 
bound and a dash, he was upon 
the scene, and very soon, by the 
skillful wielding of his fists, suc- 
ceeded in putting the enemy to 

Johnny stood abashed before 
his deliverer. Was revenge so 
sweet after all I Harry was about 
to speak, but he was interrupted 
by his companion. 

"I've been the meanest scoun- 
drel on earth, Harry, and — " 

"Don't make a fool of yourself, 
now, Johnny. I've been meaner 
than you." 

And the two boys, looking each 
other straight in the face, warmly 
clasped hands. 

Johnny, unable to realize the 

situation, resumed with some em- 
barrassment : 

"Tell the truth; don't you feel 
like kicking me?" 

"I feel rather like kicking my- 
self," answered Harry. "But, let's 
call it all square. Let by-gones 
be by-gones ; we're chums again. 
Is it a go f 7 

"Whatever you say is right, but 
I don't deserve — " 

"Hush up, old fellow. No more 
of your nonsense. We'll go see 
Father Stanford this evening." 

"That's what I say," acquiesced 
Johnny. "Let's square up all 

They walked home arm in arm, 
and as they stepped in through 
the Perrys' garden gate, a young 
Miss came, tripping along, all 
smiles and dimples, to meet the 
two reconciled foes. 

"I knew you were bound to be- 
come Friends Once More. I must 
hurry over and tell Mrs. Chilton 
the happy news. Oh, how pleased 

For May loved her brother 
dearly, and she also thought well 
of Harry Chilton. 

Joseph M. Walsh, '03. 


Thee the aged, Thee the youthful, 
Thee the little children's throng. 

Thee the crowd of maids and matrons 
Chant in simple loving song; 

And in innocence united, 

All the harmony prolong. 


Rex Pacificus Super Omnem Terrain, 

" Lumen e coelo " radiat benigne, 
Vique divina animos serenans, 
Corda succendens, penetrans potensque 
Sermo Leonis. 

Mille doctrinis agitatur aevum 
Turgidis nostrum grave semidoctis : 
His Aquinatem sapiens magistrum 
Objicit altum. 

Pauper et dives, herus et minister 
Dissident dudum sterili querela : 
Jurium Custos utriusque magistrum 
Dividit aeque. 

Quos sacrae leges ratioque sana 
Limites ponunt thalamis verendis, 
Civiumque iris, procerum tumori, 

Asserit audax. 


Coetuum pestem tenebris volutam 
Detegit Tutor oculatus atque 
Monstrat ex illis minitans periclum 
Urbis et orbis. 

Dum fremunt gentes aciesque cogunt, 
Neve jam sanis monitis patescunt, 
Nota Pastoris regit atque lenit 
Vox furiatos. 

Arbitri Pacis coiere nuper ; 
(Dum domi bellis acuuntur arma !) 
Quam loquax pacem dabit agmen absque 
Principe Pacis ? 

Albicant messes : populi per orbem 
Anxii quaerunt fidei ligamen : 
Unus adducet populos in unum 
Pastor ovile. 

Sit procul terra, prope sit vel ulla, 
Lineam tangat boreamque vincat, 
Debitor cunctis docet ipse cunctos 
Jure Magister. 

Nos, licet longe spatiis remotos, 
Ceu Pater solers colit et secundat 
Firmiter junctos cathedrae supremae 

C. M. W, 


AT the Annual Commencement 
held last June, the President 
and Faculty of Spring Hill Col- 
lege, for the first time in its his- 
tory, conferred the degree of Doc- 
tor of Laws. The gentleman who 
was privileged to receive this 
high honor was General Joseph 
W. Burke, at present occupying 
the position of Collector of the 
Port of Mobile. That he is in every 
respect deserving of such an unu- 
sual distinction, a glimpse at his 
varied and useful career will read- 
ily make apparent. 

Born in the west of Ireland in 
the year 1839, he immigrated to 
this country in 1854 and settled in 
Cincinnati, Ohio. Here he studied 
both medicine and law, graduating 
as Bachelor of Laws from the Col- 
lege of Cincinnati in the class of 
1860. He was admitted to the bar 
in the same year. 

Descended from a notable mili- 
tary family and as a boy educated 
in a school of arms, his military 
tastes and knowledge gave him 
high rank in the volunteer militia 
organization of the State of Ohio. 
At the breaking out of the Civil 
War he was commissioned Major 
in the celebrated Irish Eegiment 
of Cincinnati, the Tenth Ohio Vol- 
unteers. It was commanded by 
General William Haines Lytle, the 
gifted and gallant author of the 
well-known poem, "I am dying, 
Egypt, dying!" 

Succeeding to the command of 

that excellent Regiment, Major 
Burke served with distinction all 
through the War. He filled the 
highest and most responsible exe- 
cutive positions, such as Flag of 
Truce Officer for the Army of the 
Cumberland, and Commissioner 
for Exchange of Prisoners under 
Rosecrans, Thomas and Sherman. 
His Regiment was especially hon- 
ored by being placed on duty as 
Headquarters Guard of the Army. 

At the close of hostilities, he 
was promoted a Brigadier General 
by brevet "for gallant and merito- 
rious services during the War." 

In 1867, General Burke, induced 
by the genial climate of the South, 
took up his residence in Alabama 
and became interested in various 
pursuits, notably the smelting of 
iron, the mining of coal and the 
introduction of livestock on a 
large scale. He assisted, in 1868, 
in reorganizing the Northern Bank 
of Alabama, under the National 
Banking laws, the remodeled firm 
assuming the name of the First 
National Bank of Huntsville. 

In that same year he was ap- 
pointed Register in Bankruptcy by 
his early friend and patron, Chief 
Justice Salmon P. Chase, U. S. 
Supreme Court. This position he 
filled to the entire satisfaction of 
the Bar and people of North Ala- 
bama, by whom he was recom- 
mended for the office of U. S. 
District Judge in 1870. 

In 1880, during the administra- 




tion of President Hayes, he was 
named U. S. Marshall, bat de- 
clined the offer, and in that same 
year accepted the position of Col- 
lector of Customs at Mobile, the 
duties of which he performed ac- 
ceptably to the business communi- 
ty until he resigned in 1885. 

During the five years of his ten- 
ure of office, the first practical 
efforts to improve the Harbor and 
Bay of Mobile were inaugurated. 
In those days there were but 
twelve feet of water in the chan- 
nel leading to the city, and the 
export business of the town was 
conducted at the "Lower Fleet," 
thirty miles distant. Owing to 
this inconvenience, Mobile had in 
reality but little commerce, and 
her wharves, fallen into disuse, 
were tumbling into the river. 

Strong and able committees 
were sent to Congress to repre- 
sent this condition of affairs, 
which resulted in the adoption 
of a scheme for the improve- 
ment of Mobile Harbor. This 
was pushed and advocated 
by successive delegations until 
the present day, when the Bay of 
Mobile is blessed with the longest 
ship channel in the world, twen- 
ty-three feet in depth. The com- 
merce of all nations is found at 
the busy wharves, and in eight 
years the trade of Mobile has in- 
creased tenfold. 

During these eventful years, 
General Burke never lost an op- 
portunity to help on this grand 
work. Associated with him were 
the best talent and business intel- 
lect of the Gulf City. Such men 

as Hon. R. H. Clarke, T. G. Bush, 
D.P. Bestor, E. L. Russell, G. B. 
Clark, J. C. Clarke, A. S. Benn, 
W. B. Duncan and others lent a 
willing and earnest hand to the 
good cause which they carried 
through successfully. To their 
untiring efforts we are to-day in- 
debted for the prosperity of Mo- 
bile and her growing importance 
as the great port of the Gulf of 

In 1898, at the urgent solicita- 
tions of the citizens and the influ- 
ential civic bodies of Mobile, 
President McKinley re-appointed 
General Burke Collector of the 
Port; the duties of which office he 
now discharges with conspicuous 
ability and marked urbanity of 

Known to all as the perfect type 
of a gentleman, intelligent and 
active, kind, considerate and affa- 
ble, upright and candid, the Gen- 
eral has a host of friends and ad- 
mirers both in his adopted State 
and out of it. Hence, when last 
summer the honorary degree of 
Doctor of Laws was conferred on 
him by Spring Hill College, all 
agreed that he had fairly won the 
distinction by a long and useful 
life both professionally and in the 
walks of literature. 

General Burke is a consistent 
Christian and a practical Catholic. 
A representative of a race whose 
lineage runs back in uninterrupt- 
ed succession to the Crusades, in 
which his ancestors bore on their 
shields the motto of their Norman 
progenitors: "Un Roy, line Loy, 
une Foy" p One King, one Law 



one Faith"), he comes naturally 
by his love for and loyalty to the 
Universal Church. 

He is thoroughly American in 
his public affiliations as well as 
enthusiastically devoted to the 
traditions and national aspirations 

of his native country. America 
and Alabama are proud of such 
citizenship, and old Ireland may 
rejoice that her sons have not de- 
generated in the "land of the free 
and the home of the brave." 
Henry A. McPhillips, '00. 


' 'Sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's Child ! "— L' Allegro. 

THERE have been some men in 
the world's history — and they 
are necessarily few — who by their 
deaths have deprived mankind of 
the power to do justice to their 
merits, in those particular spheres 
of excellence in which they have 
been pre-eminent. When the im- 
mortal Eaphael for the last time, 
laid down his palette, still moist 
with the brilliant colors which he 
had spread upon his unfinished 
masterpiece, he left none behind 
him who could worthily depict 
and transmit to us his beautiful 
lineaments; so that posterity has 
had to seek in his own paintings, 
some figure which may be con- 
sidered as representing himself. 

And, to turn to another art, 
when Mozart closed his last un- 
completed score, and laid him 
down to pass from the regions of 
earthly to those of heavenly 
music, which none had so closely 
approached as he, the art over 
which he ruled could find no 
strains in which worthily to mourn 
him except his own, and was com- 
pelled to sing for the first time his 
marvellous requiem at his funeral. 

No less can it be said that when 

the pen dropped from Shakspeare's 
hand, when his last mortal illness 
mastered the strength of even Ms 
genius, the world was left power- 
less to describe in writing his 
noble and unrivalled characteris- 
tics. Hence, those who would 
know Shakspeare must turn back 
upon himself, and endeavor to 
draw from his own works the only 
true records of his genius and his 
mind. We must apply to him 
phrases which he has uttered of 
others, for we believe he must 
have involuntarily described him- 
self, when he says : 

Take him all in all, 
We shall not look upon his like again. 

The positive and directly appli- 
cable materials which we possess 
for constructing a biography of this 
our greatest writer, are more scanty 
than have been collected to illus- 
trate the life of many an inferior au- 
thor. His contemporaries, his 
friends, perhaps admirers, have left 
us but few traits of either his ap- 
pearance or his character. Still 
when we feel regret at the meagre- 
ness of the fact-matter to be gather- 
ed respecting Shakspeare's life, we 
must be consoled with his own 
words : 



"My spirit is thine, the better 
part of me." 

Yes, he lives to us still and for- 
ever in his works. 

To know that he was born in 
that quaint English village Strat- 
ford ; that he went to the metro- 
polis, and earned his fame unto 
all time; that his honored remains 
lie enshrined in the quiet little 
church on the banks of his own 
river Avon, with its silver stream 
and green trees, holy, bland, shin- 
ing and tranquil as his own spirit, 
seems fully enough to know of 
one of the greatest as well as 
simplest of God's creatures. 

To Shakspeare's works, then, we 
must go if we would know Shaks- 
peare. We must endeavor to cull 
from his own pages the great and 
noble qualities of his character and 
unite them so as to form what we 
believe is his truest portrait. This, 
however, would involve the neces- 
sity of a longer dissertation than 
we are now prepared to give, for 
his writings are so varied and his 
genius so versatile, that no one 
can hope to treat either befittingly 
within the scope of a short paper. 

Indeed, restricting ourselves to 
one play only — the historical trag- 
edy of Julius Csesar, which can be 
studied with so much interest and 
pleasure, we are compelled to say 
that Shakspeare's genius was in- 
exhaustible. No one who reads 
this masterpiece can refrain from 
asking himself :— Did Shakspeare 
live in ancient Rome, strolling the 
Forum, or climbing the Capitol? 
Did he listen to the conspirators 
among the columns of its porti- 

coes? Did he mingle among the 
Senators around Pompey's stat- 
ue or with the Plebeians crowd- 
ing to hear Brutus or Anthony 
harangue % 

Since, then, our subject is so 
extensive, we must by some means 
or other confine it to narrower 
limits. This we shall accomplish 
by passing a few general remarks 
about our dear Bard of Avon. 

Shakspeare has undoubtedly es- 
tablished his claim to the noblest 
position in English literature, as 
the great master of our language, 
as almost its regenerator, — quite 
its refiner, — as the author whose 
use of a word stamps it with the 
mark of purest English coinage, 
whose employment of a phrase 
makes it household and prover- 
bial, whose sententious sayings 
flowing without effort from his 
mind, seem almost sacred, and are 
quoted as axioms or maxims in- 
disputable, — as the orator whose 
speeches are not only apt, but 
natural to the lips from which 
they spring, are more eloquent 
than the discourses of senators or 
finished public speakers, — as the 
poet whose notes are richer, more 
wondrously varied than those of 
the greatest professed bards. His 
language in fine is the purest and 
best, his verses the most flowing 
and rich, and as for his senti- 
ments, it would be difficult with- 
out the command of his own lan- 
guage to characterize them. 

Taste is defined by the masters of 
Rhetoric as the power of perceiv- 
ing and properly appreciating the 
beauties of nature and art. And 



they tell us, moreover, that good 
taste should be characterized by 
the two qualities — delicacy and 
correctness. If all this be so, 
who in the whole range of litera- 
ture can compare with Shakspeare 
in the exercise of refined and cor- 
rect taste % 

Who of all men ever gave evi- 
dence of so keen a perception of 
the beautiful in nature and art, as 
he f Up and down, throughout his 
works, there is no dearth of in- 
stances to prove this, but to con- 
fine ourselves to our favored play, 
we shall make choice of one ex- 
ample from it. It is the descrip- 
tion of the tempest. I would ask 
you, mark the beauty of these 
Saxon lines : 
"Are not you moved, when all the sway 

of earth 
Shakes like a thing unfirm ? 0, Cicero, 
I have seen tempests, when the scold- 
ing winds 
Have rived the knotty oaks ; and I have 

The ambitious ocean swell, and rage 

and foam, 
To be exalted with the threatening 
clouds : 

But never till to-night, never till now, 
Did I go through a tempest dropping 

Either there is a civil strife in heaven, 
Or else the world, too saucy with the 

Incenses them to send destruction." 

True, Shakspeare has his faults 
in this as in other respects. Who 
has not? 

"Even Homer, good old man, some- 
times nods." 

"Quandoque bonus dormitat Home- 

Still in passing judgment on a 
writer and his works, we should 
not be less fair-minded than the 
Sabine Poet, who says : — 

"Ubi plura nitent in carmine non ego 

Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit 
Aut humana parum cavit natura." 

"But where the beauties more in num- 
ber shine, 

I am not angry when a casual line, 

That with some trivial fault unequal 

A careless hand, or human frailty 

Henry Leon Sarpy, '00. 


Sternitur in vili palea Puer; anxia circum 
Invigilat Mater ; tera polique stupent. 
Ecce autem carmen superis auditur ab auris: 
" Pax hodie terris venit, honorque Deo ! " 

First Jesuit President Spring Hill College, 1847-18^9. 


T^ATHBR Francis de Sales Gau- 


trelet, the first Jesuit President 

of Spring Hill College, was born in 
the village of Latnpigni, Saone et 
Loire, France, June 24th, 1817. 
He had a sister, who for many 
years was Superioress of a large 
community in the diocese of Au- 
tun. His elder brother, Francis 
Xavier, born in 1807, entered the 
Society of Jesus September 7th, 
1829, and became successively 
Founder of the Apostleship of 
Prayer, Provincial of Lyons, Su- 
perior of Syria, and at different 
times author of various treatises 
on asceticism, controversy, canon 
law, etc. 

Francis de Sales had made part 
of his studies under the Jesuit 
Fathers at Chambery, when at 
an early age he sought admis- 
sion into their Society. Rever- 
end Father Renault, then Pro- 
vincial of France, was rather ex- 
acting and severe towards candi- 
dates for reception. He first de- 
tained Francis teaching in a col- 
lege and afterwards postponed 
his first vows in consequence of 
bronchial troubles and his weak 
voice, which subsisted all his life 

He entered the novitiate at 
Avignon, September 7th, 1836, 
and after two years, was sent 
to Vals for his philosophical 
and theological studies. He 
was raised to the priesthood 
and afterwards became pro- 

fessor of philosophy at the same 

In 1846, Bishop Portier of Mo- 
bile sent his Vicar General, the 
Very Reverend F. Bazin (after- 
wards Bishop of Vincennes) to 
France, with orders to make ar- 
rangements with some religious 
Order for the direction of his Col- 
lege-Seminary of Spring Hill. The 
college founded in 1829-30, had 
already passed through four dif- 
ferent administrations, and lately 
the Bishop himself had been 
obliged to assume the name and 
office of President. 

The Jesuits having accepted the 
trust, Father Gautrelet was ap- 
pointed President October 4th, 
1846, and soon after set out with 
a few companions. He was to con- 
clude the arrangements with the 
Right Reverend Bishop on the 
basis agreed upon by the Provin- 
cial and Father Bazin. They 
reached New Orleans by the mid- 
dle of January, 1847. 

By the terms of the contract 
signed by both parties, the ad- 
ministration of the College, not 
its property, was transferred to 
the Jesuits on certain conditions. 
Nothing, however, was said of the 
change until the close of the scho- 
lastic year. Then in July, 1847, a 
notice was published in the papers 
announcing over the name of 
Father Gautrelet, the opening of 
the College under Jesuit control 
for the beginning of September. 



The administration of Spring 
Hill College in those ante-bellum 
times was no easy task. We 
have no idea what Southern boys 
were in those days ; yet the 
College sensibly prospered un- 
der the rule of Father Gautre- 
let, who enjoyed more and more 
the esteem of the parents and the 
clergy. Twice in succession he 
was called upon to preach the 
retreat to the clergy of New Or- 

Some of the students of those 
times have since made their mark 
in various walks of life, both by 
their talents and learning, and 
their reputation for honor and 

In October, 1859, Father Gautre- 
let was succeeded as President of 
Spring Hill by Father Jourdant, 
but remained there as Treasurer 
and Spiritual Father. Later on he 
was sent to New Orleans, where he 
became, at different times, Vice- 
President, Minister and Parish 
Priest. In the latter capacity he 
established a sodality of men, few 
in number, but of distinguished 
piety and considerable influence, 
whose direction he retained for 
many years. 

At the time of the Spring Hill 
fire, February 5th, 1869, he was 
again sent thither to assist the 
President, Father Montillot, in 
rebuilding the College. 

Soon after he was appointed 
Superior of the Southern Mission 
of New Orleans, in January, 1869. 
In the winter of the same year, he 
set out for Europe to confer with 
the Very lieverend Father Gen- 

eral of the Order and with the 
Provincial of Lyons (to which the 
Mission was then attached), in 
order to procure, if possible, sub- 
jects for the South. 

He was in France when the war 
broke out and the republic was 
proclaimed. Soon after he has- 
tened back to America, bringing 
with him a good number of effi- 
cient men, to be soon followed by 
many others. 

When, in 1880, he was succeed- 
ed by Father Butler as Superior 
of the Mission, he remained in 
New Orleans, dividing his time 
between the Confessional and the 
direction of Eeligious Communi- 
ties until 1884. That year Father 
O'Connor was appointed the first 
President of Galveston College, 
and he requested as a favor to 
take Father Gautrelet with him to 
act as his adviser and also as 
spiritual director of the Convents 
entrusted to the care of the Jesuit 
Fathers. He remained, however, 
only two years there and re- 
turned to New Orleans. In Sep- 
tember, 1886, he celebrated his 
Golden Jubilee as a member 
of the Society of Jesus. 

During his last years his mental 
faculties gradually failed and 
finally gave way completely. It 
was painful to see a man, who had 
so often given proofs of an excel- 
lent mind, of consummate pru- 
dence and exalted virtues, who by 
counsel and example had directed 
so many in the path of salvation 
and sanctity, now reduced to the 
state of second childhood, as help- 
less, as irresponsible as a new- 



born infant. It was a sad spec- 
tacle indeed. • 

At last the hour of death came 
on December 20th, 1894, when he 
was eighty years of age. Shortly 
before the end it seemed as if his 
mental powers had partly re- 
turned, and having devoutly re- 

ceived the last Sacraments of the 
Church, he resigned his soul into 
the hands of his Maker. His 
funeral was honored by the at- 
tendance of a numerous clergy 
and by a great concourse of peo- 

Joseph L. Danos, '00. 


NAMES like Longfellow, Bry- 
ant and Irving prove that 
America is as prominent in Lit- 
erature as she is in Science 
and the Arts. Hence in our 
colleges and schools we rightly 
prefer our own writers to those 
of other countries as masters 
and models of English style. 
And at the head of our favorite 
authors stands Washington Ir- 

Irving was born in New York 
city in 1783; he received but a 
scanty education. This, together 
with later reverses of fortune and 
ill health, made it difficult for him 
to pursue the bent of his genius. 
His first work was the History of 
New York, his last — he died No- 
vember 28th, 1859,— was the "Life 
of Washington." Either of these 
productions in itself is sufficient 
to establish Irving's reputation as 
a master of English prose. Among 
the other works that came from 
his pen is the Sketch Book, to 
which the present paper confines 

Irving, it seems, was fond of 
going among the old Dutch farm- 

ers of New York State, listening 
to their stories and sharing their 
gossip. He would then write 
down in his own humorous way 
what he had seen or heard, and so 
we have the Sketch Book. There 
is nothing strikingly great or re- 
markable in his style, and neither 
does he describe things startling 
or impressive. He saw what any 
of us could have seen, if we had 
strolled leisurely in the New York 
State of those days, and he heard 
the same old stories that many 
old men and women would have 
been too ready to bore us with. 

All this he set down in writing 
simply and naturally. He neither 
omitted, exaggerated nor embel- 
lished. If he saw a drove of pigs 
wallowing in the mire, or heard a 
foolish old ghost story, he put 
both in his Sketch Book, but man- 
aged to throw such a charm 
around the picture as to force 
everybody to read it, to be amused 
by it and to draw instruction 
from it. 

He can turn from the pictur- 
esque Oatskills or the lordly Hud- 
son to the dilapidated farm of Kip 



Van Winkle, and do full justice to 
either. The humble poverty of 
the Angler is as interesting as the 
comfortable plenty of the Dutch 
farmer, while Ave are equally de- 
lighted with characters so differ- 
ent as the careless, good-natured 
Rip, his close-fisted, free-tongued 
wife, the awkward pedagogue 
Ichabod, and the dashing young 
Dutch farmer, "Brom Bones." 

And when we try to find out 
the charm that gives so much in- 
terest to writings so varied, we 
see it consists in this: that he 
tells simply the whole truth. He 
always calls a spade a spade, but 
adds something to show that there 
is more, after all, in a spade than 
you thought there was. Take, for 
instance, his Description of a 
Dutch Farm. There is nothing 
very attractive, for most people, 
about farm houses in general. An 
ordinary visitor from the city 
might call them a confused col- 
lection of cattle, poultry and 
swine. Let us see what Irving 

" Sleek, unwieldy porkers were 
grunting in the repose and 
abundance of their pens ; whence 
sallied forth, now and then, troops 
of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the 
air. A stately squadron of snowy 
geese was riding in an adjoining 
pond, convoying whole fleets of 
ducks ; regiments of turkeys were 
gobbling through the farm-yard, 
and guinea fowls fretting about it, 
like ill-tempered housewives, with 
their peevish, disconcerted cry." 

Would not these grunting swine 
and cackling geese be proud of 

themselves if they could have 
understood such a "flattering de- 

Let us take another example to 
show what Irving could do in the 
face of difficulties. It is easy 
enough to describe a picturesque 
scene, or a handsome, well-pro- 
portioned person, but to give an 
interesting description of a lank, 
awkward, repulsive-looking fel- 
low would seem impossible. Yet 
this is what Irving does with 
Ichabod Crane. 

"The cognomen of Crane was 
not inapplicable to his person. 
He was tall, but exceedingly lank, 
with narrow shoulders, long arms 
and legs, hands that dangled a 
mile out of his sleeves, feet that 
might have served for shovels, 
and his whole frame most loosely 
hung together. His head was 
small, and flat at top, with huge 
ears, large green glassy eyes, and 
a long snipe nose, so that it looked 
like a weathercock perched upon 
his spindle neck to tell which way 
the wind blew." 

This will suffice to indicate the 
marvellous descriptive power of 
Irving, which can be more easily 
felt than expressed. He seems to 
have made a point of looking at a 
thing from every side, and es- 
pecially from its humorous side. 
Yet this humor does not interfere 
with truth or nature, but throws a 
charm around both, that makes 
them at once instructive and 

His humor is especially brought 
to bear on his Dutch stories, 
which he is slyly laughing at all 


the time. He laughs rather too might possibly have invented the 
much, I think, at Rip Van Winkle, story, and perhaps he did, but no 
every schoolboy's friend, and, in matter whether it was Rip or Ir- 
fact, everybody's friend! Rip had ving, or somebody else who in- 
taken a long sleep of twenty years vented it, the story told by Ir- 
in the mountains and returned to ving's facile pen shall ever be an 
find himself so many years behind interesting one ! 
the age. Irving hints that Rip FRANK Gitjli, '04. 


In the month she loved, in the month of May, 
In the month of flowers, she passed away ; 
In the month of Mary, her Queen and love, 
She was ta'en from earthly to realms above. 

I beheld her dead, in the coffin laid, 
And I knelt and wept, and I wept and prayed ; 
But she wept no longer, her face was calm, 
All her grief was tempered by Heaven's balm. 

And the crucifix that she clasped when dying, 
And the snowy flowers round about her lying, 
They are mine, and mem'ries not fall of gloom, 
For they tell of meeting beyond the tomb. 


A while to roam ; 
A stranger I, a passing guest ; 
Not here, not there my place of rest ; 

In Christ my home. 

Louisiana, '87. 


D USING the old Colonial days, 
John Maynard, a native of 
New England, with his wife and 
four children was seeking a home 
on the banks of the Mississippi. 
When the stage which he had fol- 
lowed reached its destination at 
the present city of Louisville, 
Kentucky, he set out alone, with 
his family and the wagon contain- 
ing the utensils he would need in 
his backwoods home. 

After a day's journeying he 
came to the country of the Illi- 
nois, a tribe whose history has its 
pages stained with the record of 
almost incredible deeds of blood- 
shed and savage cruelty. Eeason 
enough then had the fond parent, 
to redouble his care and anxiety 
for the welfare of his helpless 
charge. But the assurance that 
another day's journey would see 
him at his destination encouraged 
him, and infused into his breast 
new hope. 

That evening he pitched his 
camp on the banks of a stream. 
The shades of night had gathered 
over a sultry atmosphere, and the 
moon was shining brightly. May- 
nard, having tethered the horses 
and made everything snug and 
tight, kissed his little ones as they 
lay buried in sleep, and then threw 
himself wearily on the grass, a 
short distance from the wagon. 
He was soon lost in slumber. 

But as he dreamed, a shudder 
seized upon him. He thought he 

saw slowly creeping through the 
underbrush that skirted the edge 
of the forest, a band of savages 
with knives and tomahawks in their 
hands, their eyes glaring in the 
bright moonlight like those of 
demons. Now they emerge from 
the woods, and, creeping on all 
fours, with their knives between 
their teeth, approach cautiously 
and quietly, nearer and nearer 
to the canvas-covered wagon. 

Suddenly a piercing shriek 
rends the air! Maynard springs 
to his feet. Is he dreaming? He 
rubs his eyes. '"Twas only a dr — " 
another, and still another scream 
breaks the stillness of the night ! 
But these are drowned by the 
yells of the savages as they drag 
forth their sleeping victims, and 
cleave their skulls with a single 
blow of the tomahawk. Terror- 
stricken, the poor father draws 
his pistol and rushes furiously on 
the murderous foe. Ere they 
could recover from the sudden 
onslaught of the man, maddened 
with rage and terror, he had 
stretched five of them dead at his 
feet, while the others break from 
him and, with a yell that rings far 
and wide, dart into the forest. 
Mad, infuriated, Maynard plunges 
in after them, and first one, then 
another falls a victim to his dead- 
ly aim. 

The Indians have now disap- 
peared ; but the brave man rushes 
on through the thicket like a ma- 



niac. A thousand bewildering 
fancies flash through his brain. 
His hair is dishevelled. Cold 
beads of perspiration stand on his 
forehead. His eyes dart fire. His 
teeth, from between which issues 
foam, alternately close and chatter. 
Aloft, in his tightly clenched right 
hand, he brandishes a dagger. On 
he rushes, on — pursuing fleeting 
phantoms of Indians with whom 
his frenzied brain has peopled the 
woods — on, on, he knows not 
whither. On a sudden his foot 
catches in the projecting root of a 
tree, and he falls heavily to the 
ground, stunned and unconscious. 

When he awoke from his unnat- 
ural sleep, the sun was high in 
the heavens, a gentle breeze mur- 
mured softly through the forest, 
and the birds were hopping and 
trilling among the banches. 

"Where am I?" muttered he. 
"Where is my wife — my little ones? 
Ah, yes, I remember; I left them 
up yonder in the glen. What am 
I doing here? They must he wait- 
ing for me? No, not there — they're 
not — Oh ! those red demons ! 
They've killed ! O, my poor wife 
and babes !" he moaned. 

"Ha! blood on my hands! Yes, 
those red devils ! — ha! ha! didn't 
I fix them !" he exclaimed, with a 
demoniacal laugh. " ha ! ha ! ha ! 
didn't I fix — oh, my poor wife, my 
pets !" and the wretched man, 
now gone stark mad, threw him- 
self on his knees, buried his face 
in his hands, and sobbed like a 

Presently he arose and, like one 
fleeing from the blade of an assas- 

sin, ran towards the scene of the 
previous night's conflict. 

Oh, what a sight was there ! 
Stretched lifeless in a bloody 
heap on the sward lay his darling 
children ; and he kissed again and 
again those pale cheeks that, 
only the evening before had 
glowed under the impress of his 
fatherly affection. A short dis- 
tance off lay the body of his 
spouse, cold in death, a hatchet 
buried deep in her skull. 

O, God! who can describe the 
miserable man's feelings at that 
moment? He would fain put an 
end to his existence with the same 
weapon that wreaked such terri- 
ble vengeance on the perpetrators 
of this dreadful crime. What was 
life to him now ? His dear ones — 
all that he prized in this world lay 
cold and lifeless at his feet. His 
treasure had passed through the 
portals of death; with it was his 
heart, and with it he longed to be. 
The fatal weapon is pointing at 
his temples. He hesitates — he 
lowers his aim. No, he will 
live not for himself, but for his all 
— live to be the avenger of the 
murder of his loved ones ! 

Hastily digging a grave, he con- 
signed all that he held dear to the 
cold, silent earth. Then kneeling 
on the little mound, with a dagger 
grasped in his hand, he stretched 
out his arms to Heaven and, with 
hatred and fury gleaming from his 
eyes, swore that, until for every 
member of his murdered family he 
had slain twenty savages of this 
accursed tribe, he would never 
rest. After having thus, by sol- 



emn oath, given expression to his 
dire purpose of revenge, the for- 
lorn parent set fire to the wagon, 
saddled and mounted the horse 
that remained after the stampede 
occasioned by the encounter, and, 
casting one fond, farewell glance 
at the mound that hid from view 
his only care on earth, sadly rode 

Twenty years later a strong, 
powerfully built man galloped up 
to the door of a tavern in one of 
the frontier towns of Texas. Dis- 
mounting from his coal-black 
steed, he secured it to a post on 
the roadside. 

He appeared to be of declining 
years, and, by the lines that 
marked his bronzed features, gave 
evidence of having experienced 
no little amount of care and sor- 
row in his time. He was dressed 
in the costume of a ranchero, with 
high-topped boots and spurB. A 
belt, from which dangled a mur 
derous-looking dagger and an an 
tique pistol, encircled his waist 
while covering the head of long 
curly, black hair that, interspersed 
with streaks of gray, fell in grace 
ful waves over his broad shoul 
ders, was a sombrero with a deer 
skin thong binding it, from the 
ends of which hung two gold- 
fringed tassels. 

Entering the tavern, he soon 
gained the good will of the usual 
crowd of idlers by an all-around 
treat, and shortly became engaged 
in an exciting game of chance with 
a blustering cowboy, at a round 

table upon which the stakes of 
each player were piled. 

The stranger had already won 
the first pile and was about to put 
out for a second game, when a 
piercing shriek outside caused 
him and his boon companions to 
rush precipitately to the door. 

They saw an Indian sprawled on 
the dusty road. Upon inquiry, 
they found that the Indian was 
riding along the road on a pony, 
and, seeing a horse tied in front of 
a tavern, he dismounted. Casting 
a sneaky, suspicious look on all 
sides, he approached and lifted the 
hind foot of the horse to examine 
its shape for purpose better known 
to the red man than to us. 

"Ugh I" muttered thelndian, as 
he recoiled in terror, "him horse 
of big Wannanahassee ; him kill 
Injun, ugh \ n And with a shudder 
he turned to quit the scene as 
quickly as possible, when a terrific 
blow from the hoof of the animal 
struck him squarely in the back of 
the head and stretched him lifeless 
in the dust. It was the wretch's dy- 
ing shriek that brought the tavern 
loafers to the door. 

A crowd had gathered around 
the bleeding form, when the 
stranger, making his way to the 
dead man's side, scrutinized his 
features closely. Suddenly his 
eyes flashed fire. Pushing the 
crowd aside he strode to his horse, 
and, tenderly stroking its sleek 
neck, spoke to it in endearing 
terms: "Well done, my pet, you 
have acted nobly ! Ten more, my 
beauty," said he, as he cut an- 
other notch in the handle of his 



pistol, "and we shall be re- 
venged !" 

The brute seemed, by the affirm- 
ative shake of its head, to under- 
stand better than the idle multi- 
tude, who stood by gaping at the 
two in mute astonishment. Then 
mounting his steed, the stranger 
plied spur, and was soon lost in a 
cloud of dust on the distant hori- 

A score and five years had rolled 
by since the event last recorded, 
during which time the western 
half of our continent had under- 
gone many changes. The warlike 
Indian now roamed about less 
freely. No unexplored regions 
now existed in that vast stretch of 
country, and the bison, which had 
hitherto reigned as monarch of the 
prairie in undisturbed solitude, 
was now often alarmed by the 
puffing, snorting steam engine as 
it clanged over the extensive 
plains, carrying civilization to the 
former haunts of the red man. 
Thriving little towns nestled here 
and there among the mountains 
and fertile valleys, and, indeed, 
the whole country was putting on 
new life and vigor. 

At one of these towns, in a fron- 
tier state, a train stopped one 
summer's evening, from which 
alighted a stranger. He was aged 
and decrepit, and bore, trenched 
in his massive forehead and 
swarthy face, deep lines that indi- 
cated long years of pain and ad- 
versity. His hair, white as the 
driven snow, fell over his stooped 
shoulders in rich profusion, as, 

bent over a stout stick, he trudged 
out of the town into the country 

The oldman'sstep was unsteady 
and feeble, and he had to exert 
himself exceedingly to climb the 
steep hills. Now and again he 
would pause to take off his hat and 
Avipe the perspiration from his 
wrinkled brow. After an hour's 
tedious walking, he came to the 
bank of a stream which he fol- 
lowed for some distance towards 
its source. Coming to a glade ex- 
tending from the stream back into 
the forest, he left the river bank 
and made his way across the 
opening. When near the edge 
of the glade, tired and fatigued, he 
seated himself on a grassy mound 
near at hand, and abandoned him- 
self to the musings of his troubled 

"Is this the place V he muttered. 
"That stream, this wood — both are 
familiar to me. Can this be the 
spot? Good heavens, am I sitting 
on the grave of my dear ones? 

"Look ye, what is this lying 
here on the grass? A human 
skull! Another! A skeleton! 
What does this mean ? 

"Ah, yes, I remember — that 
fight. They murdered them in 
cold blood; — ha! but they are 
almost revenged. 

"What! this cannot be the 
place % No % Yes, it is, three more 
skulls! Ha! didn't I fix the red 
devils," and, dropping the 
bleached skull from his bony, pal- 
sied hand, he broke out into a de- 
moniacal laugh, "Ha! ha! ha! 
didn't I fix the devils!' 



But bark! a rifle shot. Anotu- 
er ! and a young Indian springs 
out from cover to secure the 
wounded prey. 

The old man is startled at the 
sudden report and casts a quick 
glance in the direction whence it 
came. No sooner does his eye 
catch sight of the savage than it 
flashes fury. Quickly jumping 
behind a large oak tree, he awaits 
in silence the approach of the un- 
wary huntsman. 

The deer, having its fore leg 
broken by the bullet, hobbled as 
fast as it could in the direction of 
the tree, with its pursuer closely 

When the Indian came within 
ten paces of the old man's place 
of concealment, the latter sud- 
denly sprang from behind the tree 
and, with a horrible oath, fired 
point blank at him. Struck in the 
shoulder by the bullet, his rifle at 
the same time dropping from his 
hand, the redskin rushes on his 
assailant with drawn knife and 
clasps him in his arms in deadly 
embrace. They both fall heavily 
to the earth, the Indian under- 
neath, who, with a quick thrust, 

gives his foe a mortal wound in 
the side. The old man wrenches 
the weapon from the hand drawn 
back for a second stroke, raises it 
aloft, and plants it with a fearful 
curse in the savage's heart. Then, 
with his life's blood fast ebbing 
away, he staggers to the little 
mound and falls heavily across it. 
For some moments he lay over- 
come with weakness resulting 
from the terrible struggle and loss 
of blood, when, rising to a kneel- 
ing posture, he cut another notch 
in the handle of his pistol with 
the dagger. 

Then, with a wild cry, he threw 
himself on the mound and, bury- 
ing his long, skinny fingers into 
the sod, gasped with a mighty ef- 
fort, as if trying to penetrate with 
his voice the hard clay, " 'Tis 
done — my poor wife, my deav 
babes; the hundredth devil has 
bit the dust, — my vow is fulfilled 
— you are avenged!" And with 
this word upon his lips his soul 
winged its flight to the feet of 
that tribunal where just before 
him had stood the last victim of 
his vengeance. 

Fred Solis, '00. 


Una mihi superes, Christi perduleis Imago, 
Suinque Tui minium solo praedives amore. 
Effigies, decus omne meum, Solaris acerbos 
Casus, Tuque meae vitae praedulce levamen. 
Te teneam suprema mihi cum veuerit bora, 
ritima Te spectent morieutia lumina, Cbriste ! 



WHEN the Northern gale 
scatters the shrunken petals 
of the sere and faded rose, we say, 
'"Tis well thus"; but when the 
tempest's rude blast strikes down 
the half-blown bud, jast opening 
up its chaste beauty to the mel- 
low sunshine, a wail of sadness 
breaks from our lips: '"What loss! 
what pity to destroy such glory 
in the blossom !'' 

So it is with the King of ter- 
rors. Though merciless at all 
seasons, yet in the bloom of youth, 
in the spring-tide of life— more 
than ever — does he appear the 
ruthless tyrant. 

Last May our College friend, 
bright, happy and hale, was in our 
midst; the month of June was 
scarce a fortnight old, when his 
pure, noble soul broke through 
its prison bars and took its flight 

John Henry Greenwood was 
born in Pensacola, Florida, April 
16th, 1883. At at early age his 
parents removed to Mobile. Here 
he attended different schools, 
among others the Barton Acade- 
my. He was a diligent and do- 
cile scholar, and early gave signs 
of superior mental endowments. 
When he made his First Com- 
munion, he was ranked among 
the most pious and orderly boys 
of his class. It is no wonder, 
then, that he was the idol ol his 
fond parents, and a favorite with 
all who knew him. 

At the beginning of the school 
term of 1898-99, John came to 
Spring Hill College with the view 
of completing his education. It 
was here, above all, that his admi- 
rable qualities of heart and mind 
manifested themselves in all their 
charming beauty. 

Firm of character, yet respect- 
ful and obedient, generous to a 
fault, loyal in friendship, devout 
in his religious faith, he was loved 
and esteemed by his professors 
and school-mates alike. He pos- 
sessed a genial and cheerful dis- 
position, was fond of sports and a 
skilled athlete, a brilliant and suc- 
cessful student, and gained scores 
of friends by his gentle and amia- 
ble manners. Withal, he was ever 
the dutiful, affectionate son, al- 
most worshipped by his father 
and mother, who were wont to 
welcome him as the sunshine of 
their lives. 

In the midst of this happy and 
promising career, the fell hand of 
disease came upon our beloved 
College-mate. One day, towards 
the end of May, he complained 
of a slight indisposition. He was 
cared for immediately; and, after 
a few days, w T as taken to his home, 
where, for a time, he appeared to 
improve. Soon, however, a re- 
lapse set in, and he lingered on 
between life and death for several 

During these last solemn hours, 
John was the same gentle, manly, 



religious youth he had been at 
College. He was as patient as a 
lamb, allowing no peevish mur- 
murs to escape his lips, but ac- 
cepting his sufferings as from 
God's beneficent hand. Frequent- 
ly during his pain and anguish he 
was heard to pronounce with rev- 
erence and devotion the Holy 
names of Jesus and Mary. At 
length, on the 15th of June, after 
being strengthened by the last 
sacraments of Mother Church, 
he calmly breathed his soul into 
the hands of his all-merciful Cre- 

He was buried from the Cathe- 
dral. His funeral was attended by 
a large concourse of sorrowing 
friends, among whom were his Col- 
lege professor and a delegation of 
his class-mates. His father confes- 

sor spoke a few touching and elo- 
quent words at his obsequies, in 
which he wished his noble soul 
"God speed " on its journey ^to 
never-ending bliss, the precious 
reward of those " who die in the 

Friend, we sorrow o'er thy passing, 

Grieve to see thy early fall ; 
Now we miss thy gentle presence 

Shedding gladness on us all. 
Sweet thy voice as heavenly music, 

And thy joyous laughter's thrill, 
And thy footstep's lightsome echo — 

All are vanished — all are still. 

But thou'rt past the bourne of trial, 

Fraught with dangers none can tell, 
And art gone to meet thy Saviour 

Whom thou e'er didst love so well. 
Rest thee, brother, rest thee calmly ; 

Naught of earth can harm thee more. 
May thy soul, no longer burdened, 

In angelic choirs soar! 

Sam. Apperiotjs, '00. 


For thee, sweet Heliotrope, in vain, 

The warblers wake their lay, 
In vain the purling rills pour forth 

Their murmurs soft and gay. 
Heedless of their false flowing charms, 

Upon the Sun, whose rays 
Thy being gave, thy thankful soul 

E'er turns its grateful gaze. 

E'en so for thee, poor restless soul 

Of mine, in vain its songs 
Should luring pleasures wake ; in vain 

Should gay and wordly throngs 
Invite. These empty charms despised, 

On God, thy Author, End, 
Alone thy thankful heart 

Its gaze should ever bend. 

J. Irving. 


SCRIPTURE says that knowl- 
edge "puffeth up.' 7 In the 
same spirit, the poet says: 

"A little learning is a dangerous thing." 

Scripture never meant that 
knowledge in itself is hurtful. 
For David sings: "Teach me, 
God, discipline and science." 
Neither could the poet have meant 
that the least ray of that knowl- 
edge, which Plato calls divine, is 
unworthy of our admiration. 

It is knowledge alone that makes 
man the lord of the universe. It 
is knowledge that displays to him 
the symphony, order and loveli- 
ness of nature. It is knowledge 
that raises him from the visible to 
the invisible. The portion of it is 
the portion of an intellectual 
being, a ray of the divine intelli- 
gence. It is so vast, so wide in 
its area, so infinite and inexhaust- 
ible in its depths that men may 
draw from its fountain, little or 
much, and may still be said to 
have but tasted and scarcely 
drunk of its waters. Why, then, 
should Pope have said: 

"Drink deep, or taste not, the Pierian 
spring? " 

Pope himself left school at the 
age of twelve. His own learning, 
though of a high order, was not 
sufficient to enable him to distin- 
guish always between metaphy- 
sics and true poetry. He is not 
classed among the greatest poets. 

Yet who will say that Pope's 
learning did little for the English 

language 1 Probably no man of 
the eighteenth century did more 
than he to harmonize English 
verse, and to bring order and 
symmetry into the wild, random 
diction of his predecessors. 

The truth is quite evident: it is 
not knowledge, little or great, that 
is dangerous to man. We may 
credit Pope, there, with having 
meant only that knowledge which 
"puffeth up." 

It is the pride, the vanity, the 
evil scheme, the wild machina- 
tion, of which knowledge is made 
the instrument — it is the passion, 
the unsubjected slave, tearing 
down its master, Reason, and per- 
verting the order of Divine Provi- 
dence — it is the bloated, stalking 
knowledge of the tyrant, the cun- 
ning of the impostor, the cruel 
tact of the extortioner, the subtle- 
ness of the spy, the keen foresight 
of the full -bred warrior, whetted 
by ambition, — it is such knowl- 
edge as this that is So terrible in 
its effects. For knowledge, once 
devoted to a bad cause — what is 
it but another name for cunning, 
fraud, ambition and deceit? The 
power given to rule the world 
may destroy it. If the world were 
not kept in course by a Divine 
Ruler, nothing could be better 
calculated to destroy it than mis- 
directed knowledge. 

Give a man the muscles of a 
Hercules, the spirit of an Achilles, 
but deprive him of the divine gift: 
he becomes like the brute of the 



field or the maniac in the asylum. 
Let him rave and chafe in the 
stubbornness of Prometheus in 
his chains, yet by a step he may 
be avoided, by silence he may be 
checked in his course, by kindness 
he may be softened ; by force, at 
least, he may be taken to an abode 
of safety. But let his mind once 
grasp but a little knowledge — such 
knowledge as is void of meekness 
and humility — let him, through 
some ingenious flatterer, discover 
the arts by which physical power, 
anger, hatred, revenge, rousing 
the dregs of society into a cyclone 
of tumult, may sweep their way to 
destruction, — and we have a man 
well calculated to lead the mob of 
a city to ruin, fitted to hurl the 
missile of an anarchist, or ready to 
handle the dagger of a Csesario. 

Misdirected knowledge! A lit- 
tle learning! In every stage of 
life its influence may be exempli- 
fied : in the slums of the lower 
classes, in the bustle of business 
life, in church, in state, in the fair 
circles of the young, and in the 
elite of the higher classes. 

In the down-town saloon, where 
the ignorant yet inquisitive youth 
of the lower class gather together, 
mark well the man of muscular, 
brutish energy, who sways the 
young blood of the city. A bully 
of bullies, self-appointed king, he 
defends the tenor of his life 
with a brawling sophism. He an- 
swers the objection of the reli- 
gious man with a brazen sneer. 
He has enough knowledge to 
know that anything like true phil- 
osophy would issue in the ruin of 

himself. He has a little learning 
surely: enough to raise the row 
at the polls of the next election, 
enough to disturb the homes of 
the poor with his unshaped politi- 
cal views, enough to manage the 
strike at the telegraph office or on 
the railroad. Now the politicians 
begin to fear him. Now he enters 
the lists himself. Finally he 
wields the sceptre of an office, 
where sycophancy and bribery 
hold sway and honesty is trodden 
under foot. What was it that en- 
couraged him to aim at positions 
he is totally incapable of fulfilling? 
What but the little learning, the 
taste of the Pierian spring % 

In the business circles, who is 
there that has not experienced the 
vast difference between the bright 
eye and the bright intellect, be- 
tween the honest face and the 
honest heart 1 In business affairs, 
the man of little learning, yet a 
dangerous man, is the man of 
mighty eye, but little intellect — 
the man with dollars on his tongue, 
but no capital. 

This is the man who builds and 
becomes famous on false preten- 
sions. He deceives the uncau- 
tious by the magnificence and 
splendor of his apartments. He 
attracts the immature by the noise 
and hurry of his attendant clerks. 
He has a little learning, he knows 
that external grandeur will allure a 
decade of followers. 

But the gaze of intelligent men 
discovers the breach in the lofty 
wall. The cannons are aimed 
against the foundations of the edi- 
fice. The crisis proves that a 



mere wavering upstart had stood 
before the world, but not the 
sound man of business. 

Such a man we find suddenly 
disappearing from the scene of 
daily life, and, with him, some few 
hundred thousand dollars, the 
resources of those that trusted 
him. Again, we find him behind 
the prison-bar, convicted of fraud 
or forgery. Frequently, worse 
than all, we find him, having real- 
ized the enormity of his decep- 
tions, overcome by remorse — 
ound lifeless on the river side by 
the first break of dawn — or a 
corpse in an obscure chamber, 
with the weapon of death at his 

Let us advance to another sphere 
of life. Let us ascend the steps of a 
spacious mansion where the vener- 
able mistress gathers the young 
together under her maternal care. 

How sweet is the society of the 
young! How like the breath of 
morn ! How like the ripening field 
of spring-time, or the tender buds 
of May ! 

Yet let us pause. In this so- 
ciety, where everything breathes 
sweetness and life, while the con- 
versation glows and the dance is 
merriest, behold the young man, 
whom the knowledge of true vir- 
tue has never enlightened. He 
may have whatever other knowl- 
edge you will. He may have all 
the gifts that make learning at- 
tractive. He may be fair, bril- 
liant, bright-eyed, genial and so- 
ciable. But let us suppose him to 
have but little learning, as far as 
virtue is concerned — let us sup. 

pose him to be a youth who does 
not comprehend the meaning of 
true modesty, nor understands 
the love of candor and sincerity — 
to whom purity of morals is an 
external force, and chastity a nick- 
name. Let such a one, with every 
other gift, be allowed to approach 
the tender society of his equals — 
and we shall find his little learn- 
ing — his knowledge of evil — not 
only dangerous, but a very worm 
creeping into the sweet flowers, 
carrying decay and ruin, where 
once bloomed the rose of modesty 
and the lily of purity. 

The young man develops. His 
passion develops with him. His 
talent for good lies buried in the 
ground. After a few years, men 
are on their guard against his 
wiles. Kind mothers warn their 
children against him. Aged fath- 
ers threaten him if he dare ap- 
proach their door. But he still 
has his coterie of admirers. He 
still has gleams of success. He 
seizes his opportunity, and mar- 
ries into a family of wealth and 
affluence. Perchance he becomes 
a man of fortune, and wins for 
himself renown. But at last the 
truth breaks from its hiding-place. 
Lo ! in the midst of his success, at 
the very moment when cities, 
families and fortunes seem to hang 
upon his lips, we read, to our 
amazement, in the first column of 
the morning paper, the glaring 
headlines, which reveal to our 
eyes the hideous cancer that had 
long been concealed under the 
flash of the diamond or the halo 
of renown. 



Such is the man of little learn- 
ing, or of "puffed up knowledge," 
in the stages of ordinary life: 
the bane of the lower classes, the 
horror of the business man, the 
curse of refined and charitable 

There remains still but one 
stage of life. 

Is it possible that, astray in the 
Holy of Holies, among the men 
constituted the rocks of God's in- 
defectible church — that even here 
the poison of vanity will infect the 
minds that are consecrated to His 
service? Yet even here the facts 
stare us in the face. 

Well may the ignorant, in their 
sweet and simple faith, revere 
every churchman as another 
Mark, every pulpit orator as an- 
other Chrysostom, every zealous 
missionary as a Xavier or a Paul. 
Well may the attentive, sagacious 
bourgeois, of every country and 
clime, distinguish the pious pastor 
from the common herd, and trust 
their children to his care. And 
well may the educated and refined, 
imbued with the instinct of reli- 
gion, point with pride to the se 
enty tomes of the Bollandists, 
the attempted history of saints 
and martyrs whose number is 

Nevertheless, to the careful stu- 
dent, the ambitious design, the 
cunning, the worldly tact of those 
who, under the cloak of the 
church, have forsaken the church's 
counsels, is as manifest and strik- 
ing as any fact in history. 

In every age, we find some 
egregious impostor enriching him- 

self, like Magus, at the expense of 
the multitude. Jn every clime we 
find the subtle heretic, raving, 
like Arius, under disappointment 
and chagrin, and, in the keenness 
of his discomfiture, hurling his 
very knowledge of Scripture 
against the Divinity of Christ. In 
every religious congregation, we 
see the bold monk, like another 
Luther, disturbed, in his own 
mind, by his own paradoxes and 
contradictions, dividing his fol- 
lowers into sects and divisions, 
until he is himself finally dis- 
solved in melancholy, wretched- 
ness and despair. 

It is this knowledge, as we said 
in the beginning, that is deserv- 
ing of our condemnation: the 
knowledge that is made the instru- 
ment of pride or vanity or jealou- 
sy or ambition or revenge. No 
other knowledge is or can be 

Far be it from the meaning of 
the poet — far be it from the tenor 
of Scripture — far be it from the 
sentiment of every one of us, to 
despise the knowledge of a Pas- 
teur, devoted to the cause of 
science, the knowledge of a Co- 
lumbus, united with lofty aims 
and heroic courage, the sweet, 
discerning knowledge of an As- 
sisi, alluring the heart of man to 
the love of celestial things, and 
moving the will of man to the no- 
ble and the true. Forbid it, God! 
But the bloated knowledge of the 
politician, the craft of the hypo- 
crite — these are condemned, yes; 
but true knowledge never! 

P. Antonin Lelong, '00. 


All the night the moon is beaming, 
Breathing words no man can tell, 

Where the lilies odor-teeming 
Waver to the breezes' swell : 

And the starlight soft is streaming 
On the chapel in the dell. 

In the distance, dark and sombre, 
Sleep the mountains o'er the sky ; 

And the brooks, in ceaseless number, 
O'er the rocks are running by ; 

And the mocking-bird in slumber 
Dreams aloud his lullaby. 

Nature's music soul-refining ! 

Bird and brooklet everywhere ! 
Tree and flower in moonlight shining 

Eound the little house of prayer: 
Mirror true of Him reclining 

In the Tabernacle there ! 

Hark ! I hear the buoy a-tolling, 
Where the distant waters flow ! 

Just above a cloud is strolling, 

AVhere the moon was wont to glow. 

Hear the fai-off thunder rolling, 
Like the cannon on the foe ! 

Just a moment's breathless hushing, 
Like the stillness of the grave ! 

Then the loud winds rising, rushing, 
Lashing, heaving o'er the wave, 

Woods are drenched with torrents gushing, 
Sea and shore in wildness rave ! 

Swift upon the blue deep dashing, 
Cloud on cloud their fury spread: 

Now the mountain oaks are crashing, 
And, from Terror's fountain-head, 

Lightning gleams of flame are flashing, 
Like the spectres of the dead. 


Yet, there's music in the thunder, 

Sweetness in the stormy night: 
Lo ! my heart has turned with wonder 

To the Sanctuary Light! 
He, that cleft the oak asunder, 

Dwelleth there, all-calm, all-bright! 

Never mocking-bird so sweetly, 

Never thrush sang note divine, 
Never sea-gull flew so fleetly 

To its home beyond the brine, 
Never petal opened meetly, 

As the Love from out the shrine. 

In the bolts of heaven I hear Him, 

Gentle as the gentle dove ; 
In the lightning flash I fear Him 

Fear that I may lose His love. 
Oh, the joy to be so near Him, — 

Brother, Friend and God Above ! Alabama. 


T) RIEFLY speaking, oratory is an admiring audience, and woe to 

-L^the art of persuading by speech, those who admire him not! He 

Its nobility and grandeur, so highly screams, and at once awakes in 

extolled by masters like Cicero his hearers a responsive thrill, 

and Webster, I do not now pur- H e commands them in his own 

pose to glorify. My task will be eloquent fashion, and they obey, 

an humbler one, that of explaining He makes known by his voice 

its practical uses. that he wants— say "the earth"— 

They begin with the cradle and an d he gets it. Where is the ora- 

continue to the grave, and some- tor more eloquent? Who excels 

times they end not there. him in the gift of persuasion ? 

Take a baby, as Shakespeare This baby grows and goes un- 
says, "muling in his nurse's arms," willingly to school, and in hall 
or if, under the circumstances, and campus, does he wish to win 
you do not wish to take him, look a game or escape punishment, he 
at him. at once finds out the uses of elo- 

He crows, and his mamma is quence, and not unfrequently at- 

enchanted; immediately he has tains his end. 



This infant, grown to maturer 
years, makes a study of oratory. 
That is supposing he is a boy ; a 
girl does not need to study ora- 
tory — it was born with her. And 
when he is fully equipped with all 
the rules of speech-making, "armed 
against a sea of troubles," he goes 
out into the world ready to swim 
"the tide that leads to fortune." 

He becomes a lawyer, and be- 
fore his eloquent tongue, fed by a 
well-trained brain, the guilty 
tremble and the just go free. A 
physician, and who does not pre- 
fer to have his pills sugar-coated, 
as it were, by the doctor ofsmooth 
and artful speech f 

He enters business, and even 
here his advantages are at once 
apparent. Be he salesman, con- 
tractor, member of a firm or drum- 
mer, the art of persuasion is in- 
valuable to him in every grade. 

He loves his country, and so he 
would become an alderman. Will 
not every convenient street cor- 
ner resound with his eloquence"? 
And the otherpoor man who loves 
his country and would like to be 
alderman just as well, but is no 
orator, reclines at the bottom of 
the pole. 

And so with assembly, con- 
gress, senator, aye ! even the 
presidency — every office in the 
hands of the people is won by the 
golden mouth, very often, it is 
true, with the assistance of the 
golden dollar ! 

And when business, politics, 
and all have failed,— does not the 
very tramp, euphoniously referred 

to as the "Citizen of the World," 
fall back upon eloquence to keep 
together body and soul — and 

Still, not alone to-day, but ever 
in the past has eloquence been a 
power in the land. Go twenty 
centuries back, — stand upon the 
plain of Marathon, — look upon the 
historic isle of Salamis, where a 
handful of valiant Greeks put the 
Persian myriads to flight! But 
Marathon and Salamis would be 
names unknown ; Grecian art, 
eloquence and culture would have 
died unborn, had not Themistocles, 
by his soul-stirring eloquence, 
nerved the men of Greece to meet 
and conquer the hosts of Persia. 

Come to our own land, whose 
heroes we venerate, and whose 
liberties we prize. 

Washington and the other noble 
generals of our land would not be 
shrined in story, nor liberty won, 
had not our ancestors been roused 
by the words of Patrick Henry, to 
throw off the yoke of the oppress- 

Therefore, may I not conclude 
with another orator, the silver- 
tongued Tully, who so thoroughly 
understood the uses and advan- 
tages of Oratory f These are his 
words of sound advice, as perti- 
nent to-day as they were nineteen 
hundred years ago : 

"Apply yourselves earnestly to 
the study of oratory, that you 
may be an honor to yourselves, a 
help to your friends, and a treas- 
ure to your country." 

J.Douglas O'Brien, '00. 


U/^NLY five o'clock ! I hope six 

^Avill soon come!" muttered 
Gertrude Cavey, as she heard the 
dusty little clock in the telegraph 
office strike five. 

The next hour dragged wearily 
on. The rain came pouring down, 
and the angry clouds chased one 
another in quick succession 
through the vaulted skies. The 
little office shook. Gertie was 
twice compelled to leave her in- 
strument; for the forked lightning 
that had struck a pole, ran along 
the wires, and flamed near the 
machine on which she was operat- 
ing. The low, monotonous sound 
produced by vibrating wires, add- 
ed to the gloom of the scene. 

The door was opened, and Sam 
Chamberlain, the night operator, 
entered, grumbling about the 
weather. His "Good evening !" 
to Gertie was answered with a 
smile. Having shaken the water 
from his coat, and wiped the mud 
off his shoes, he leisurely seated 
himself at the vacant desk. 

'•I'll take this along with me," 
said the relieved operator, as she 
approached the door, holding up 
a red lantern; -'it will be of ser- 
vice to me; it's so dark and 

"Yes, you'd better!" replied 
Sam, who was already busy trans- 
cribing a message from the click- 
ing instrument. "Good night !" 
and Gertie was out in the dark- 

Along the lonesome road the 
girl walked fearlessly. The light 
of her lantern fell on various ob- 
jects, whose shadows, in the un- 
certain glare, might have proved 
so many sources of terror for an- 
other girl, but not for Gertrude 

Her home was in a dense thick- 
et, through which she had to pass 
When in the midst of the wood, 
she was startled to hear the 
sound of human voices. Instinc- 
tively she hid the lantern with- 
in the folds of her cloak. Paus- 
ing, she listens in breathless 

"Come on, boys!" she hears 
quite plainly, "all's ready ! No. 10 
will go into the river in twenty 
minutes. Watch, each one of you. 
See that no one nears the bridge!" 

"O, Heavens!" uttered Gertie, 
"what's to be done !" 

Thought after thought flashed 
through the girl's troubled mind. 

"That voice was Burrows'," she 
mused. "He's a desperate man, 
and has had a spite against the 
company ever since his discharge. 
Hundreds of lives are in peril. 
I've no time to return and tele- 
graph. I must do something!" 
exclaimed the excited girl. 

Just then three dark forms 
emerged from the wood, and bent 
their hurried steps in the direc- 
tion of the trestle. 

"How can I save them?" Gertie 
asked herself almost distractedly. 



"Oh ! that wicked Burrows. 
They'll be — ah ! my lantern," she 
exclaimed exultingly, as she drew 
it from beneath her cloak. "I can 
save them — I must! I will!" and 
with the beacnn of safety under 
her garment, she dashes off 
through the darkness. 

Fear gave wings to her speed, 
and she soon reached the railroad. 
Aware of the plans of the conspi- 
rators, and fearing to arouse sus- 
picion, she walked slowly up the 
track towards the bridge. Pant- 
ing she arrived at the trestle and, 
congratulating herself on having 
anticipated the wreckers, started 
to hasten across: 

"Here, where are you going V 
shouted some one behind her. 

Gertie turned deathly pale — 
brave girl though she was — and, 
to her utmost terror, saw three 
dark figures advancing rapidly to- 
wards her. 

'•What's that bundle you're hug- 
gin' under your cloak there?" 
asked one. 

Gertie's voice almost forsook 
her. "Don't you think father 
needs his overcoat to-night P she 

"Let her go, Jim !" said Bur- 
rows, the leader, and, as Gertie 
continued to hasten across, she 
barely heard, through the storm, 
"She can do no harm, and it would 
make matters only worse to keep 
her here." 

As, with renewed effort, breath- 
less and almost blinded by the 
pelting rain, Gertie stumbled on 
through the darkness over the 
slippery ties, the trestle seemed 

to sway and sink. Once, hav- 
ing ventured to look down at 
the black waters that roared and 
foamed in the depths far below, 
she almost fell through the bridge. 
Had such happened, she would 
soon have been joined in her wa- 
tery grave by hundreds of unfor- 
tunates ; and at the thought, her 
brave heart welled up in her 

"Only half way across; I will 
be too late. Heaven help me!" 
she exclaimed. " Oh ! to get far 
enough up the track." 

On across the long trestle, in 
the violent storm, walks, runs and 
stumbles gallant Gertie. 

She is now off the bridge, and 
breaks into a run. She trips upon 
a rail and falls heavily. She can 
scarcely rise through weakness. 
Still she hastens on, heedless of 
fatigue and pelting storm. 

Does she hear the engine's 
whistle? Perhaps it cannot stop 
in time! No, 'tis only the wind. 

On she rushes, wildly rushes. 
Her foot slips on a stone ; she 
reels. She recovers herself. She 
is faint, poor girl, and can hardly 
drag herself along. But a hun- 
dred lives hang in the balance, so 
on she hurries. 

The shrill whistle of the loco- 
motive sounding above the storm's 
roar, announces that Lightning 
Express No. 10 is on time. Then, 
as the brilliant headlight looms up 
in the distance, steady at first, 
but, as it approaches nearer, seem- 
ing to shake violently, Gertie 
drags the lantern from its hiding 
place, swings it high above her 



head, and falls across the track 

On rushes the train, and stops a 
few feet from the bridge. 

At daybreak of the following 
morning the mangled remains of a 
young girl were found up the 
track. In the hand of the dis- 
membered right arm was grasped 
a shattered lantern. 

From the windows of cars that 
pass over the new railroad trestle, 

passengers can see, down in the 
valley, a country church yard. 
Conspicuous among its memorials 
of the dead is an imposing marble 
monument. Sculptured on its 
base is the epitaph : 

A Grateful Tribute 
To the Memory of 
Gertrude Cavey, 

Who, to Save the Lives 
Of Others, Heroically 
Sacrificed Her Own. 

Edward B. Dreaper, '02. 


FEW names are dearer to the 
Southern heart, or wake in it 
more tender memories, than that 
of the Poet Priest. 

The South justly claims him as 
her child of genius, whose heart 
beat in sympathy with her cause; 
and she has lovingly linked the 
name of Abram J. Ryan with those 
of L'3e and Jackson, the staunch- 
est defenders of her rights. She 
may well feel proud of him, for 
his words have thrilled her sol- 
diers on the eve of battle, and 
have quickened the martial im- 
pulses of her chivalric sons; they 
have soothed the wounds of her 
heroes, and have lifted the hearts 
of her dying to God, the great 
Father of all. 

But the name of Father Ryan is 
of greater interest to the Students 
of this College, who, from their 
childhood days, have heard it 
pronounced with reverence, and 
some of whom were taught to in- 

clude it in their infant prayers. 
They are now treading the same 
ground which oft was hallowed by 
his footsteps, and live in those 
classic halls where he spent so 
many a happy hour. Oh! could 
the walls only speak, and send 
forth the sweetness of his silvery 
voice ! 

But to none is Father Ryan's 
name more dear than to the people 
of Mobile, among whom he lived, 
worked and touched his tuneful 
harp. They well know how faith- 
fully he discharged the sometimes 
severe, and always responsible 
duties of his sacred calling. His 
zeal for the honor and glory of 
God gleams through every page of 
his poems, but his loving, ardent 
and indefatigable labors in St. 
Mary's parish wrought poems, yet 
more numerous and more beauti- 
ful, that will be writ forever on 
the souls of men. 

People of every creed and class 




flocked to hear him, attracted in- 
deed by his smooth diction and 
poetic imagery, his mellow voice 
and graceful gestures, but more by 
that which touched his every 
word with fire, the love for his 
Father — God, and his brother — 

"The love that is deep and deathless, 
The faith that is strong and grand, 

The hope that will shine forever. 
O'er the wastes of a weary land." 

This is the reason more than 
his poetic gifts why Father Ryan 
was loved in life, and why even 
now many a Southern mother 
teaches the child at her knee to 
lisp a prayer in his memory. 

With voice or pen he was the 
same; he wrote or spoke what was 
in his heart, and that was God, 
fellow-man and Southland. This 
is a true summary of all his 

But, though he is known as the 
Poet of the Southern Cause, and 
in common estimation is more 
perhaps the Patriot than the 
Priest, we find, after careful study 
of his volume, that his Lord and 
Master fills the larger space, and 
stands out prominent on every 
page. In sky, and sea, and land- 
scape, nay in every phase of life 
he saw 

* * * * * on i y 
One Heart, one Face, and one Name." 

He loved the Blessed Virgin 
with all the love of a child for its 
mother, as he tells us in many of 
his beautiful poems. 

u O Christ! of Thy Beautiful Mother, 
Must I hide her name down in my 
heart ? 

But ah ! even there you will see it ; 
With Thy Mother's name how can I 

Many of his brightest gems are 
tributes to Her whom he honored 
as the purest type and grandest 
embodiment of womanhood. 

His touching affection for his 
own mother is instanced in his 
beautiful 'Reverie." She is the 
strong argument that strengthens 
his love for God and Mary : 

"But God is sweet, 

My mother told me so 

When I knelt at her feet. — 

Yea, God is sweet, 

She told me so, 

She never told me wrong." 

And when he would prove the 
"Immaculate Conception" of the 
Mother of God, he calls his 
mother to his aid: 

"Let my mother, Jesus ! be blame- 
less ; 

Let me suffer for her if you blame, 

Her pure mother's heart knew no bet- 

When she taught me to love the pure 

His touching piety drew from 
his heart many a burst of pathos 
for those holy names that appeal 
to a Catholic and a priest. Thus 
he speaks of the Sacred Heart, 
that Heart, Face and Name which 
he saw in every created thing: 

"Ah ! words of the olden Thursday ! 

Ye come from the far-away ! 

Ye hring us the Friday's victim 

In His own love's olden way. 

In the hand of the priest at the altar 

His Heart finds a home each day." 

And he felt with poetic realism 

" — The heart that bled on Calvary 
Still beat in the holy place." 



His was a true and simple char- 
acter, in which there was neither 
pride nor dissimulation. His 
generous heart was ever moved 
by kind impulses and charitable 
feelings, as became his holy office. 
Generosity was the ennobling 
principle of his nature and the 
mainspring of his life. He was 
generous by nature and by grace. 
He could refuse nothing that was 
in his power to give, either to God 
or man. To God he gave his life, 
a sacrifice that cost him dear, as 
some of his verses indicate; yet 
he made it freely, and never took 
back the gift. To his fellow- men, 
he gave whatever was asked of 
him if he had it; and if he had it 
not, he would often beg for it. 

There are many stories, well 
known in Mobile, of his almost 
reckless generosity. Among oth- 
ers, one Sunday morning an old 
lady called to see him before ser- 
vice. She was one of those who 
had been in better circumstances 
before the war, a class for whom 
Father Eyan had special sym- 
pathy. According to his wont, he 
made inquiries about her sons 
and daughters and husband, and 
everything that concerned her, 
for he could say with the poet of 

"Nihil humauum a me alienum puto," 

and added : ''How is Mary ? 'Tis 
an age since I've seen her; what 
Mass does she attend?" "Ah! 
father," replied the poor old lady, 
evidently with great reluctance, 
"Mary has not been to church for 
some time. You know how things 

are with us, — and she is ashamed 
to appear in her old tattered 

"Oh ! poor thing ! And that's 
all? There, now, what do you 
think of that for a pair?" said 
Father Kyan, pointing with pride 
to a new pair of his own, a gift of 
one of his parishioners ; "take 
them now, and tell Mary if she 
does not wear them I'll consider 
it a reflection on the size of my 
feet. Oh! 'twas I that once had 
the handsome foot!" Thus he 
soothed the woman's pride with a 
kindly laugh and sent her away, 

It was then time for Mass, and 
he proceeded to doff his slippers 
and put on his shoes; but alas! 
there were no shoes! As soon as 
lie had received the new ones he 
had given away the old ; and now 
that the new were also gone he 
was forced, not for the first time, 
to be content with his slippers. 

Friendship was likewise con- 
genial to his heart; it was more 
than a name with him. He con- 
sidered it as a chain of afFection, 
whose binding link was fidelity, 
and whose tie the grave could not 
sever. Even on Christmas Eve, 
the day of joy and mirth, he 
grieves for the friends that he 
numbered among the dead. 

"Peace! peace to everyone, 

For whom we grieve, this Christmas 

In their graves beneath the snow." 

His songs were always sad and 
tearful ; his muse seemed never to 
smile. Heaven he knew could 
only be won by tears: 



"The surest way to God 

Is up the lonely stream of tears." 

When he wrote, the blood of 
his fallen friends that sanctified 
the battle-plains of Shiloh or 
Gettysburg must have rushed be- 
fore his eyes. Perhaps he thought 
of his brother, the noble youth 

* * * Died alone, unattended, 
Unbewept and unbefriended, 
On the bloody battlefield ;" 

or even of Erin, the home of his 

fathers : — 

"A cloud hangs o'er 
My Erin's shore — 
Ah ! God, 'twas always so." 

It is needless to dwell on his 
love for his country — the Land of 
the "Conquered Banner" — which 
he sung so often and so well. 

"Land of the sunniest skies ! 
Our love glows the more for thy gloom; 
Our hearts by the saddest of ties, 
Cling closest to thee in thy doom." 

After the war of '61, when the 
dark clouds of fate loomed up 
over his once fair and sunny land, 
his loving heart, nigh crushed with 
grief, sent forth her song of woe: 

-'My brow is bent beneath a heavy rod, 
My face is wan and white with many 
woes ; 
But I will lift my poor chained hands 
to God, 
And for my children pray, and for 
my foes." 

In these few words, we may 
read the grand character of Father 
Ryan, who in his sorrow looks 
up to God and weeping, prays: — 

" * * * Thy will be done," 

and like his crucified Saviour, 
cries out in his woe : — 

"• * * Father, forgive them, 
They know not what they do." 

But, when the South was re- 
stored to her rights, he took down 
his harp, and touching its chords 
with renewed strength and vigor, 
drew forth the rich tones of his 
grand "Reunited : " — 

'The North and South stand side by 

The Bride of Snow, the Bride of Sun, 
In Charity's espousals are made one." 

Father Ryan was no poet like 
Milton, who soared aloft into the 
very gates of heaven and pictured 
to us — 

" * * * God in His first frown 

And man in his first prevarication ;" — 

nor like Shakespeare, who fath- 

"The dark abysses of the human heart," 

and laid bare the varied doings of 
man; nor, least of all, like Dante, 
who plunged into the impene- 
trable depths of the infernal re- 
gions, and opened to our view 
their never-ending misery and 
woe. He has a style of his own, 
full of simplicity, truth, and the 
love of God. 

Father Ryan did not make 
poetry his vocation, for, as he 
himself says, his feet knew more 
of the humble steps that lead up 
to the Altar and its Mysteries, 
than of the steeps that lead up to 
Parnassus and the Home of the 
Muses. But his voice musically 
uttered the thought of his soul, 
often with unusual grace and 
power. He touched the lyre with 
a firm and practised hand and 
drew forth a stream whose sim- 



plicity and holiness won the hearts 
of his people, and still thrills their 

Whatever else may be said of 
Father Eyan as a poet, he was 
truly the priest, the teacher and 
inspirer of deepest love for truth 
and duty. He summed up the 
philosophy of life in these beauti- 
ful words, whose sombre sadness 
is gilt in the last line by a gleam 
of hope : 

"Life is a burden— bear it — 
Life is a duty — dare it — 
Life is a thorn-crown — wear it — 

Though it break your heart in twain ; 
Though the burden crush you down ; 
Close your lips and hide your pain, 
First the cross and then the crown." 

Father Eyan had indeed his 
crosses, and he bore them nobly, 

after the example of his Divine 
Eedeemer. Now he wears the 
crown. The South has woven a 
garland for him, and crowned him 
her King of song; and Mary, the 
Queen he loved so dearly and sung 
so well, has placed on his brow a 
deathless diadem in that glorious 
home, where he gazes forever on 
"A Heart, a Face, and a Name." 
And now, gentle reader, may I 
be permitted to ask Father Eyan 
to address you, from his throne of 
light, the generous wish he sung 
so sweetly in days gone by : 

"Merry, merry Christmas ! 
May the coming year 
Bring as merry a Christmas, 
And as bright a cheer !" 





[A communication addresf-ed to the Science Class of Spring Hill College by 
the whilom Monsieur Pierre Simon Laplace, now a resident of the Spectral Re- 
gions, in answer to some inquiries about the beginnings of the planetary system. 
The original is written in elegant French, but for obvious reasons it was judged 
advisable to transfer the celebrated philosopher's words to the "universal lan- 


December 15th, 1899. / 
My Scientific Friends: 

When your highly compliment- 
ary letter reached me I was hold- 
ing a conversation, — or better — 
Monsieur Buffon was holding a 
conversation with me. For, I can 
assure you, when the gentleman 
once begins to talk about beasts, 

birds and fishes, — mastodons, or- 
nithorynchi, ichthyosauri, — it is 
difficult to know when or where 
he will stop. I lose patience with 
him; he is a bird himself, — 
excuse my temper. I generally 
shake him off by applying to him 
the Latin word which resembles 
his own name. Of course, any 
one of your Third Grammar boys 



can tell what "Bufo-onis" means. 

Well, to come to the matter in 
hand, that is, the origin of the 
planet world; you must not im- 
agine that the subject is difficult 
of comprehension, and can be 
grasped only by scientists of the 
mental calibre of Messieurs Pas 
cal, Newton or your humble ser- 
vant. Such is by no means the 
case, as you will readily perceive 
after I have explained the whole 
question to you. At the outset, I 
must encourage you by informing 
you that I shall indulge in no 
abstruse calculations. I shall 
merely put together — in a nut- 
shell, as it were — the principles 
which I established before I 
"shuffled off my mortal coil," and 
which I have fully verified since 
T made my egress from the planet 
Tellus and visited the other colos- 
sal worlds floating in ethereal 

No need have I to tell you that 
in our universe the sun revolves 
about its axis once in every 
twenty-five days in a motion from 
East to West, as you face it; that 
in the same direction the planets 
revolve around the sun, and the 
satellites around each of their re- 
spective planets. Moreover, all 
the greater planets move in nearly 
the same plane, which is approxi- 
mately that of the sun's equator. 

How are these facts to be ex- 
plained % Different men of varied 
intellectual capacity have an- 
swered this question in diverse 
ways. My solution — the only cor- 
rect one — is "The Nebular Hy- 

As fond as I am of this my pet 
theory, I cannot claim unreserved 
rights to it. In other words, I am 
not the only meteor in the sky ; 
there are others. (I think that 
with you expressions of this kind 
are classed among slang phrases. 
What a pity, I often remark to 
Shakspeare, your grand, vigorous, 
prolific tongue is being dragged 
into the mire by fools ! Pardon 
this parenthesis.) 

Anyhow, the chief shades who 
have an option on my Hypothesis 
are Messieurs Kant and Herschel; 
so, in order to bar out and keep 
down all competitors, we have 
formed the " Laplace-Kant-Her- 
schel Nebular Syndicate," named 
from the senior partners. You 
see, even we, unearthly spirits as 
we are, are affected by the Trust 
evil. 'Tis ever thus I 

Most of you mortals call Mon- 
sieur Kant the Father of this 
theory. After all, as there is not 
much in a name, and it tickles 
the old man's vanity, I never dis- 
pute the title. When he was 
among you, he said and now re- 
peats: "I assume that all the ma- 
terials out of which the bodies 
of our solar system were formed, 
were, in the beginning of things, 
resolved into their original ele- 
ments, and filled all the space of 
the universe in which these bodies 
now move." According to his 
theory, there was no definite 
shaping in this chaos, the forma- 
tion of different bodies by the mu- 
tual gravitation of these parts be- 
ing a newer occurrence. But 
some parts would, of course, be 



denser than others, and these 
would gather about themselves all 
the more subtle particles. This 
last supposition, with due respect 
to the German sage's transcenden- 
tal "nous," I maintain to be incor- 
rect, for it is clear that if the 
larger bodies would persist in at- 
tracting all the lesser ones, there 
would eventually result but one 
immense body poised in space. 

Monsieur Herschel was the suc- 
cessor of Monsieur Kant in these 
researches; and he appears to be 
the first one to conceive the idea 
that from the nebulae, those vast 
gaseous bodies that float in the 
ether, solid ones could have been 
generated. By a careful and ac- 
curate study, he found some neb- 
ulae to be entirely gaseous, others 
to be partly solidified, some to 
have naught but a more luminous 
centre, others to be already 
formed into a star or con- 
densed into a group of stars. 
In one of my poetic flights, I very 
aptly compared MonsieurHerschel 
studying the nebulae to a forester 
who, patiently watching the 
growth of young trees, at length 
joyfully sees the slender sapling 
grow up and spread out into the 
stately pine. 

But, even though I do say it 
myself, I, Pierre Simon Laplace, 
am truly the one who have done 
the most for the present Nebular 
Hypothesis. Unlike Monsieur 
Kant, I do not begin with chaos, 
in which attractive and repulsive 
forces struggle for mastery, but 
with the sun surrounded by an 
immense atmosphere whose fiery 

gase fills the whole of space 
Reasoning from mechanical laws 
the sun, or whatever was the sun 
turns around in a slow rotary mo 
tion about its axis. As the gigan 
tic mass cools off, it contracts 
As it contracts, its rotation in 
creases in velocity. Now, the 
centrifugal force counterbalances 
the attractive force at the centre, 
and the outer crust, in great meas- 
ure cooled off, flies off at the sun's 
equator in the shape of a huge re- 
volving ring. This ring little by 
little divides itself into various 
parts, and by the attraction be- 
tween them, the lesser parts are 
drawn towards the greater, and at 
last, the whole condensing into 
one great sphere, the planet Nep- 
tune, the first-born, comes into 

Meanwhile, the same action con- 
tinues with the sun-mass. Drop- 
ping concentric circles of matter 
at fixed points, it grows smaller 
and smaller, until finally the at- 
tractive and centrifugal forces be- 
ing balanced, this process of con- 
ceiving worlds is ended, and lo ! 
the golden orb becomes the cen- 
tre of our universe, with all the 
planets revolving around it. The 
planets, moreover, behaving in 
their turn like the sun, generate 
their satellites. 

Such, my young friends, is the 
origin of the solar system, of that 
wandering family of giant spheres, 
clustered about their mighty pro- 
genitor, and swinging in immeasu- 
rable space around him. Such, in 
other words, is the Nebular Hy- 
pothesis ! 



It is not hard to understand, 
now, is it! So simple, you will 
say, that a merest child can fath- 
om its meaning; what a wonder 
some one did not find it out be- 
fore you! Ah, yes ! a great won- 
der indeed! but, — I say it with 
due modesty — it required my 
master brain to call into being 
such a clever theory. 

But, do not suppose for a mo- 
ment that everything is plain sail- 
ing, and that there are no objec- 
tions to this theory. Many diffi- 
culties present themselves — not 
to us across the Styx, no longer 
trammelled with the "muddy 
vesture of decay" — but to you 
mundane beings. These, how- 
ever, need not be stumbling-blocks 
along the path of science ; they 
can all be met with good, solid so- 
lutions even by your earthly as- 

I may treat of these objections 
in another letter. Should I do 
so, my answers will not be based 
on any arbitrary figment of the 
imagination, as were those of the 
darkey preacher who was ex- 
pounding his theory in regard to 
the planetary system. Perhaps 
you hava heard the story, as it 
smacks of antiquity; we got it 
from Monsieur Bill Nye. 

Well, the darkey spoke as fol- 
lows: "Brethren, you heah heap er 
folks claimin' dat dis yer wurl' am 
moverin' fro' space at race-horse 
speed. Ain't no sech fing ! Dis 
yer erf am a-sottin' on a rock !" 

"But, pahson," asked one of the 
audience, "w'at am dat rock a-sot- 
tin' on <?" 

"On tuther rock, of course!" 

"And w'at am dat tuther rock 
a-sottin' on V 

"Don't you be axing such Jack- 
assical questions; dar's rocks de 
whole way down." 

Do not be shocked at my intro- 
ducing such a trivial incident into 
my epistle. It serves a purpose, 
namely, to illustrate what my so- 
lutions of the difficulties will not 
be like. 

Trusting you have all under- 
stood my Nebular Hypothesis, and 
wishing you success in the pur- 
suit of the sciences, I am, 

Kespectfully yours, 
Pierre Simon Laplace, Shade. 

N. B.— The Editors wish to 
state that the manuscript of the 
above has been accidentally de- 
stroyed ; so. curio-seekers need 
not call to purchase the docu- 

P. Antonin Lelong, '00. 


Cum summos rutilo spargebat lutnine inontes 
Sol oriens, legi lilia, Virgo, tibi. 

Hibernascandore nives superare laboraut; 
Tu tamen, Virgo, purior omnibus es ! 


"Here eglantine embalmed the air, 
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there, 
The primrose pale, the violet flower, 
Found in each cleft a narrow bower." 


JN natural scenery, as well as in 
other respects, our College 
Home is certainly blessed beyond 
measure. On whatever side we 
turn, landscapes of surpassing 
loveliness greet the enchanted 
eye. With its long vistas and 
broad plains, its gently-sloping 
hills and shady dells, its glassy 
lake and crystal streams, its state- 
ly trees and rich-hued flowers, — 
truly we are living in a Paradise 
of the Poet. 

Looking from the College you 
see on one side residences lining 
the Spring Hill road and growing 
in beauty till they reach Mobile. 
Some are of the most modern 
architecture and speak the 
comfort and ease of their pro- 
prietors ; others are of an older 
stamp, and retiring from the pub- 
lic road with a grand avenue of 
cedars or live oak leading to their 
entrances, tell, but too plainly, 
that before the war, they were the 
homes of good cheer, where the 
stranger was kindly welcomed 
and was treated with real South- 
ern hospitality. 

Here if you wish to behold na- 
ture improved by art, you may 
linger to see the artistically ar- 
ranged flower gardens with their 
profusion of roses varying from 

the pure white to the dark crim- 
son. Here the japonica and 
oleander spring up and flourish, 
and are free from the freezing 
grasp of deadly winter. Here the 
numberless colors of the gera- 
niums are brought outand softened 
and blended by the clear sunny 
air. Here the azaleas, heliotropes 
and chrysanthemums are of the 
richest dyes, and all are so ar- 
ranged — each increasing the beau- 
ties of the others — that they offer 
a picture which the imagination 
may dream of, but never hope to 
see realized. 

But perhaps you are of a more 
material turn of mind ; then visit 
the orange grove, adorned with 
rich blossoms or laden with golden 
fruit. Or, glancing in another 
direction you cannot fail to notice 
on our wooded hill the huge live 
oak with its wide-spreading 
branches rising giant-like from 
the ground. Nor the wild mag- 
nolia with its wealth of cup-like 
flowers, freighting the homeward 
breeze with the richest perfumes. 
And there stands the "forest pri- 
meval" with its "murmuring pines" 
rising high into the heavens, stud- 
ding the hill and meeting the sky 
in the distance. 

Yonder is the gulf with its white- 
capped waves beating upon the 
golden sands. And though you 
cannot notice the heaviDg and 
panting of the liquid plain, though 
you see not the. waves, like a long 



line of soldiers forever marching 
to the shore, yet you cannot but 
enjoy the cool breeze that comes 
freshened and quickened from its 

And if your eyesight is weary 
of drinking in the beauties of the 
spot, then sit and listen to the 
melodious sounds that will reach 
your ears. You cannot but be 
charmed by the mocking-bird 
swinging aloft from yonder tree 
and pouring from its little throat 
"floods of delirious music." Now 
your spirits are saddened by the 
monotonous, mournful plaint of 
the whip-poor-will, or cheered by 
the joyful whistle of the cardinal. 
Now you are delighted by the 
joyous ripple of the stream, as 
dancing along it reaches the lake, 
or you are lulled by the music of 
the trembling leaves of the poplar. 
While the noisy clank of the tur- 
bine mellowed by distance into a 
musical sound and the dreamy 
soothing plash of fountain-streams, 
playing for a moment on the iron 
fouutains and then leaping into 
the stone basin, will weave fantas- 
tic dreams, even for the unpoetic 
soul. Or, if you prefer to take a 
walk under the interlocking trees, 
graced by the wild grape or clam- 
bering woodbine, and stop to ad- 
mire the wild flowers that spring 
up so profusely to deck the hill, 
then choose any path ; it will lead 
you to beauties far beyond your 

Then, perhaps unknowingly, be- 
fore you have gone far from the 
College, you will stumble upon 
the ravine. Yes, deep in a tuft of 

young cedars, the ravine begins 
its course. Gradually, it leaves 
the high hill and widens and 
deepens its path. Soon the steep 
banks, either stand up perpen- 
dicularly and suggest the tall 
cliffs in mountainous countries, or 
worn by the water courses they 
assume the most fantastic shapes. 
The channel, has now widened 
and reminds one of a river, whose 
waters have forsaken its bed and 
hastened to the sea. 

But nature has set off the sil- 
very streams of sand by the rich- 
est vegetation, carpeting the 
banks with the softest grass and 
wild flowers of the most varied 
hues. This is the spot where the 
first violet is blown, and the first 
wild rose perfumes the air. Here 
the yellow jessamine takes so 
kindly to the soil that it climbs 
up the banks and wreathes the 
fragrant hawthorn with its golden 
bells. Here the bee gathers the 
sweetest honey and the humming- 
bird sips his dulcet food. 

Here the sombre cedar, the 
druid oak, the sweet gum and the 
stately pine spring up side by 
side, and each forgets his mono- 
tony in the company of the others. 
The cedar's livery assumes a 
darker hue, the oak appears to be 
of a brighter green, the pine be- 
comes more majestic as it towers 
aloft high over the others, and the 
gum changes with the season from 
the fresh green of spring to the 
red glow of autumn. While the 
dog-wood, half-concealed by the 
jutting banks, with its top of 
whitened blossoms, seems a heap 



of driven snow. There you may 
sit, shut out from the busy world, 
where no sound penetrates save 
that of the singing groves, and 
give yourself up to the perfect en- 
joyment of nature. 

But if you continue your walk, 
you shall see that the ravine loses 
nothing of its picturesque beauty, 
until it passes where once in the 
good olden time it was spanned 
by a foot-bridge. And as you 
stand on the spot (now occupied 
by a massive culvert), shaded from 
the burning rays of a tropical sun, 
by the long projecting arms of the 
trees, how easily you might muse 
on the lives of those who passed 
over it! And do what you may, 
you cannot but remember the feel- 
ings of awe that filled the hearts 
of the small boys on their first 
arrival, and their deep thoughts of 
regret, when they stood on it for 
the last time and cast "one long- 
ing, lingering look behind" on 
their Alma Mater. Now it begins 
to grow less precipitous and 
finally it spreads its stream of 
sand over the level country and 
is lost in the swamps, far away 
from the College. 

Or how delightful it would be 
to take some walk, for example, 
the one leading to the old mill- 
pond, and give expression to the 
enthusiastic feelings that will 
swell the breasts of every one — 
but, alas! I feel myself unequal to 
the task, for in the words of Long- 
fellow, "some feelings are quite 

untranslatable." No language has 
yet been found for them. They 
gleam upon us beautifully through 
the dim twilight of Fancy, and yet 
when we bring them close to us 
and hold them up to the light of 
reason, they lose their beauty all 
at once ; as glow-worms which 
gleam with such spiritual light in 
the shadows of evening, but when 
brought in where the candles are 
lighted, are found to be worms, 
like so many others. 

In conclusion, I may say that it 
is only from the visitors of the 
ice-bound North, when standing 
for the first time they behold this 
cheering panorama unfolded be- 
fore them, that we can learn to 
appreciate what has grown fami- 
liar to our eyes. It is from their 
exclamations of delight that we 
realize that Spring Hill is the 
lovely spot, where even the poet, 
with his mind stored with charm- 
ing images, may come and receive 
new beauties. It is from their 
words of admiration we learn that 
it has attractions far beyond the 
ideal of those who have pictured 
to themselves the Eden of earth, 
with its rolling hills and fertile 
valleys, with its dense forests and 
limpid lakes, where the trees are 
countless in variety and most no- 
ble in shape, and where the clear 
Italian sky and the delicate and 
brilliant atmosphere shed a pecu- 
liar charm overall. 

Jos. V. Kearns, Jr., '95. 


Columbia, here's a cup to thee, 

Thou world-famed champion of the sea! 

As thou didst nobly win it, 

I care not what is in it ; 

Mead, nectar Olympic or vintage of France, 

Pure, crystalline water, 'tis sure to enhance. 

A toast to the victor of the brine ! 

A toast to the yacht of ninety-nine ! 

Since thou didst save the cup for me, 

Columbia, here's a cup to thee ! 



ANNO 1775. 

QUID? Nos imbelles esse ! im- 
pares esse hosti tarn potenti j 
At quando validiores erimus ? An 
mensem, annum exspectabimus? 
Tardabimus, donee armis exspoli- 
ati simus, et singulorum januis 
Anglus excubitor assideat? Sper- 
amusne dubitatione, inertia ad- 
venturum nobis robur? Nos tunc 
tandem ad resistendum valentes 
fore, quum satis diu desidesjacue- 
rimus, satis diu vana spe quasi 
quibusdam in cunis sopiti dor- 
mierimus % Quando vinculis con- 
stricti erimus % 

Nos imbecillos esse! Minime 
vero ; dummodo praesidiis uti vel- 
imus, quibus benignissimus mundi 
Dominus nos communivit. Na- 
tionem tricies centenis millibus 
frequentem, quae armata consur- 
git et pro sua libertate decertat in 
locis, qualia nostra sunt, nullus 
legionum numerus, nulla hostium 
vis aut astutia subigere speret. 

Neque soli pugnabimus : ille 
idem justitiae vindex Deus aderit 
adjutoresque nobis suscitabit pro 
nostra causa armandos ; praeter- 
quam quod non solis violentis ac 
potentibus victoria debetur, sed 
vigilibus, strenuis, generosis. 

Denique nulla jam optio datur, 
nee, etsi quispiam tarn abjecti an- 
imi esset, ut a certamine recedere 
moliretur, alia via relinquitur, nisi 
cum iniquo hoste pacisci aut colla 
servituti submittere velimus. Jam 
procusa sunt vincula nostra; jam 
catenarum strepitus a Bostonien- 
sibus castris ad nos perveniunt. 
Bellum in foribus adest, eja, veniat 
tandem, veniat, inquam ! 

Profecto operam perderet, qui 
etiam nunc periculum aut negare 
aut extenuare auderet ; qui etiam 
nunc "Pax, Pax I" inclamaret, 
quum pax jam esse non possit. 
Jam enim bellum inceptum esse 
videtur et stridorem armorum sine 



dubio proxima Boreae flarnina ad 
aures nostras perferent. Jam 
castra posita sunt, et fratres nos- 
tri ad pugnam accincti. 

At nos, quid hie stainus otiosi % 
quid cives sibi volunt 1 Anne 
tam pretiosa est vita, et tarn sua- 

vis pax, ut eas catenis ae servi- 
tute emendas putent? Ignoscat 
inihi Deus ! quid aliis placeat nes- 
cio nee euro ; mini vero, quocum- 
que pretio, aut libertas contingat 
aut praematura mors ! 



I HAVE always prided myself 
on my freedom from all kinds 
of superstition. My father was 
most careful about instructing our 
nurse not to tell us any stories of 
ghosts, or to make use of the airy 
spirits of the night to frighten us 
when we were tempted to be 
naughty or troublesome. So I 
grew into boyhood firmly con- 
vinced that there were no such 
things as ghosts. 

True, I took perhaps more than 
ordinary pleasure in reading weird 
and mysterious tales, — pleasure 
derived, I suppose, from their ap- 
pealing to the extraordinary part 
of one's being. But they never 
made more than a passing impres- 
sion on me, and I shook off the re- 
membrance of them as I would 
the recollection of a dream. 

I had been told that the best 
way to find out if a ghost was a 
ghost was to walk right up to it 
and shake it vigorously. This 
plan I have on more than one oc- 
casion adopted, and have suc- 
ceeded in disposing of the spec- 

I had one experience that well- 
nigh scattered all my theories to 

the four winds. I was attending 
one of the departments of Ex- 
ton University, and boarded in 
a house regularly patronized by 
the scholars. In those days I 
was a hard student, but so man- 
aged my time as to be able to get 
to bed at quite an early hour, and 
revive my forces for the coming 

I had retired one night, after 
putting out my light and arrang- 
ing a low coal fire in the open 
hearth. It never took me long to 
fall asleep. Suddenly I found my- 
self awake, and saw a man stand- 
ing in the middle of my room. He 
was in his shirt-sleeves ; I could 
not clearly make out his features, 
but his size and shape were per- 
fectly plain. There he stood si- 
lent and motionless, gazing up- 
ward fixedly. 

The first thought that flashed 
across my mind was that the man 
was a burglar. Had I not better 
stay quietly where I was, and let 
him finish his work, and then at- 
tack him from behind? But no. 
He must have known that I was 
awake, from the change in my 
breathing, and anyhow I could 



not long keep up the pretence of 
being asleep. 

I quickly resolved, therefore, 
that as there was to be some fight- 
ing I had better do mine stand- 
ing, and with one sweep of my 
arm I threw aside the bed-clothes 
and jumped out on the floor. I 
knew that if I could keep up the 
struggle for a short time all would 
be well with me, for my outcry 
would briug some of my comrades 
to my aid. 

If you have ever tried to ascend 
or descend one step more than 
there was in a flight of stairs, you 
may have some faint idea of the 
shock of both my mind and body 
when I found myself standing 
alone in the middle of the room. 
My man had vanished; he had not 
moved away from me, but he had 
simply ceased to be in the incon- 
ceivably short space of time be- 
tween my leaving the bed and my 
standing on the floor. 

Had I met a murderous burglar 
in the flesh, I could not have been 
one-millionth part as terrified as I 
was now, standing face to face 
with this unsubstantial phantom. 
I used my best endeavors to per- 
suade myself that it must have 
been some human being. I tried 
the door; it was bolted and locked 
and the key on the inside. I lit 
the gas; I looked in the corners 
of the room ; I peered under the 
bed; nobody to be seen anywhere. 
I rushed over to the window : it 
was clasped; I flung up the sash; 
there was no ladder, no lightning- 
rod, no water-pipe, no creeping 
vine, nothing by which a man 

could have climbed down the 
three stories that separated my 
room from the ground. A chilling 
fear shook my whole system. 

I was almost completely un- 
nerved, when one last ray of hope 
gleamed upon me. My room be- 
ing under the roof was not rec- 
tangular in all corners. The ceil- 
ing inclined towards the eaves to 
within five feet of the floor. The 
remaining space out to the eaves 
was boarded in and served as a 
closet, the door of which I had 
never had the curiosity to open. I 
observed that it had a spring-bolt 
on the outside. The man might 
have stepped in there and sprung 
the bolt after him. But strange I 
had not heard the click of the 

Still, candle in hand, I pulled 
back the catch, and bending over, 
stepped bravely into the recess. 
It ran the whole length of the 
house on that side, and struck me 
as being a rather uncanny place 
to explore by the light of a candle. 
I looked to the right and left and 
saw that it contained old furni- 
ture, carpets and such things as 
are generally found in a garret. 
At one end was a trunk, partly 
open ; it looked somewhat suspi- 
cious, but I must acknowledge 
that I could not pluck up enough 
courage to walk down that gloomy 
passage and examine it. So con- 
soling myself that it was scarcely 
large enough for a grown person 
to get into, I came out, slamming 
the door behind me, because any 
noise is company on an occasion 
of this kind. 



For a moment I stood dazed; and 
then I felt that I was shivering 
from real cold as much as from 
fear. It must have been one of 
night's fantasies, I thought, though 
I had never heard of one so much 
akin to reality. I turned out my 
light, stirred up the fire and 
jumped. into bed. 

I lay in that dimly marked state 
between sleep and waking, the 
memory of my experience having 
almost passed out of my mind. 
Suddenly I was awakened ! Before 
me stood that man again, trans- 
formed into a wild beast. I 
crouched for au instant, and then 
with all my strength sprang at 
him savagely, ready to tear his 
every limb asunder. I hit the 
floor with fearful force and just 
managed to save my head from the 
fire. I raised myself up timor- 
ously. I was alone in the dimly 
lit room. The blood recoiled in 
my veins, my eyes started from 
their sockets, my affrighted hair 
stood bolt upright, horror and 
fear possessed the fainting powers 
of my soul. 

What was this strange appear- 
ance, this silent figure, that stood 
sentinel over my bed, that melted 
away when I reached out to grasp 
it? I bethought me of the num- 
ber of young men who had occu- 
pied this room before me. Had 
it been the scene of some terrible 
crime, and was this the uneasy 
spirit of criminal or victim ? Re- 
collections of ghost stories I had 
read flooded in on my mind and I 
was on the point of placing some 
credence in them, when the sen- 

sible early training I had received 
in these matters came to my help 
and stood me in good stead. I 
resolved to make a complete study 
of the situation. I again tried the 
window and door and even was 
brave enough to search the closet 
and open that trunk, all with the 
same result as before. 

I knew that the senses might 
sometimes be deceived and had 
heard of such things as optical 
illusions. Might I not have been 
the victim of one? I would ex- 
amine whether there was not some 
object in the room, some curtain, 
picture or design of the wall — 
paper that could by any means be 
made to resemble the spectre I 
had seen. 

I lay down in my bed, taking 
the same position, my head in the 
same hollow in the pillow and in- 
clined at the same angle. I half 
closed my eyes, blinked them 
slightly and — there was my man 
again! This time I did not jump 
up. I opened my eyes widely, 
stared fixedly before me and be- 
hold ! my ghost materialized ! 

On a chair some yards across 
my room was a suit of clothes 
light gray coat and vest and white 
trousers, which I had worn that 
day at a party. Before retiring, I 
had placed my vest on the back 
of the chair, my coat was carefully 
spread over them, with the sleeves 
dangling on either side, while my 
trousers were laid on the seat 
with the legs hanging down to the 

You may have seen a little opti- 
cal toy by which a distorted image 

Prof. Joseph blocb 


Prof. August J. 



seems to stand upright and as- 
sume some totally unexpected 
shape, when looked at in a mirror 
or lens. That was what happened 
to me. I could make my clothes 
take on a most fantastic appear- 
ance in the mirror suspended from 
the wall and cause them to loom 
up before me in the middle of the 
room as a seemingly human being. 
And so my appalling experience 

ended in a laugh. I got up, pulled 
the chair, my ghost, out of the 
range of my eyes and the mirror, 
and then slept the more soundly 
for my fright. 

Doubtless many another blood- 
curdling ghost story has had as 
little substantial foundation as had 

0. Andre Lelong, '01. 


No student who has passed 
through Spring Hill within the 
last quarter of a century will fail 
to recognize old acquaintances in 
the three distinguished gentlemen 
represented on the opposite page. 
For many years they have been 
identified with the fortunes of the 
College as efficient and faithful 
members of its faculty. The Re- 
view takes this occasion to pay a 
slight tribute to their genuine 
ability and sterling worth. 

Professor Joseph Bloch, 
known in Mobile as the "Father 
of Music," was born in 1826 at 
Wachenheim, Germany, and stud- 
ied music at a well-known Uni- 
versity. At the age of twenty- 
two he came to the United States, 
and settled in Mobile, where he 
has resided for the past 51 years. 
He taught music until his retire- 
ment a few years ago. He was 
the first to introduce the choir 
into the Synagogue and was its 
leader for eighteen years. He 
acted as Professor of music at 

Spring Hill College for thirty- 
seven years. Many a noted musi- 
cian graduated under him. During 
his tutorship he secured the high- 
est esteem of all the Faculty and 
scholars, and was for years a close 
friend of Father Holaiud and the 
lamented Father Yenni and of 
Bishop Quinlan. Some of his hap- 
piest days were spent in the Col- 
lege, and it has always been a 
source of regret to him to have 
been forced to resign his position 
on account of ill health. He is 
one of the two living originators 
of the Mobile Musical Associa- 
tion, which gave such enjoyable 
and instructive entertainments in 
the sixties. In 1849, Professor 
Bloch married Miss Hannah Gold- 
stucker and on September 12th, 
they celebrated the 50th anniver- 
sary of their union. He is now 73 
years of age, and spends his time 
quietly at home, surrounded by 
his beloved family. 

Professor Paul C. Boudous- 
qtjie was born in New Orleans, 



August 18, 1847, and was educa- 
ted at the Jesuit College of that 
city and also at Spring Hill Col- 
lege, which conferred on him the 
degrees of Bachelor and Master 
of Arts. He then went to Paris, 
entered Chaptal College, the nur- 
sery of engineers, and returned 
just in time to join the Confeder- 
ate army. He served during the 
last years of the war in the Engi- 
neer Corps, which fact enabled 
him to prolong the studies re- 
quired by the profession he fol- 
lowed, until he accepted a respon- 
sible position in 1870 with the U. 
S. Engineer Department. Here 
he rose to the distinction of being 
entrusted with the supervision of 
vast works of improvement, un- 
dertaken by the general govern- 
ment, at Mobile, Pascagoula, 
Biloxi and at Horn and Ship Is- 
lands in Mississippi Sound. A 
distinguished pupil of Cassagne 
in drawing, Moise in painting, 
Eauchenstein in mechanics and 
de Pouilly in architecture, the 
faculty of Spring Hill College 
selected him in 1872, as instructor 
of drawing and painting. Lately 
he has also accepted the position 
of special teacher of penmanship. 
The wide range of art work of 
Professor Boudousquie is well 
known in this section, owing to 
his connection with the many ar- 
tistic and social organizations 
with which he has been actively 
identified; as a teacher of expe- 
rience his method is as thorough 
as the excellence of the schooling 
he has received. The beautiful 
and life-like painting, "Ecce Ho- 

mo," which hangs over the main 
altar in the Mobile Cathedral, is 
the work of the skilful brush of 
this talented Spring Hill alumnus. 
Professor August J. Staub 
is a native of Zug, in Switzerland. 
On the paternal side he comes of 
musical ancestors,counting among 
them many of professional as well 
as of unusual amateur talent. His 
mother's family figures prominent- 
ly in clerical and political history 
as far back as the fourteenth cen- 
tury. Professor Staub began to 
study music at the early age of 
six, and at the age of eleven was 
considered an adept performer on 
the piano. Inferior teachers, 
however, almost discouraged him 
in his musical pursuits, but, upon 
the advice of Professor Vogt, or- 
ganist of St. Nicholas Church 
at Fribourg, and of Professor Mul- 
ler, a violinist of merit, he deter- 
mined to continue in his chosen 
art. Under the former he took 
his first lessons in harmony; he 
then attended the Boyal Conserva- 
tory of Music at Stuttgart, where 
for the space of three years he 
successfully studied piano under 
Lebert Gloens, theory and organ 
under Doctor Faisst, and violin 
under Debuysere, a pupil of Mo- 
ligne. Subsequently he filled the 
position of piano teacher in the 
Conservatory at Wiesbaden for 
two years; this was followed by 
an engagement in his native city. 
In 1877, upon the recommendation 
of a fellow-countryman who had 
resigned the office of Principal of 
the Musical Department of Spring 
Bill College, Professor Staub 



came to America and assumed the 
duties of the vacant position. 
During his long term of office, he 
has given universal satisfaction in 
his manner and methods of teach- 
ing, both Faculty and pupils being 
unqualified in their praise of his 

merits and faithfulness. He has 
had the honor of training some 
excellent musicians both in the 
amateur and the professional line. 
The Professor himself is one of 
the best known musicians in the 



"Sailors vile unchristian wretches? 

Well, sir, listen for a spell, 
And then say if Christian landsfolk 

Act as nobly or as well." 

Thus spoke honest Captain Halsey — 
Kindness filled his facial chart, 

Candor's sails decked every feature, 
Honor masted in his heart. 

"Well," he said, "The Knickerbocker, 
This tight craft on which we float, 

Anchored years agone alongside 
Of a wretched, sinking boat. 

"Now, I think the man who ever 

To the flag of woe is blind, 
Or is deaf to drowning heart-cries, 

Is the scum of human kind. 

"Not so brave, big-hearted Henry — 
He was first mate on that trip, 

And a nobler-hearted fellow 
Never manned or ruled a ship. 

"Now, I've been in many waters, 

And yet can I truly say 
I've never sailed a wilder sea, 

Than the one that raged that day. 

"And the cold was something fearful: — 
It chopped and froze your skin ; 

It froze the breath upon your face ; 
It froze your blood within. 

"But Henry, little recked he ; 

He heard the drowning cry, 
And cut he down, and launched a boat, — 

Prepared to do or die. 

"Then jumped he to the gunwale, 

And cried right merrily : 
' I go to bring in yonder crew ; 

Who'll come along with me?' 

"Then twenty gallant sailor men 
Cried out: 'I go with thee,' 

And Henry, with a valiant crew, 
Swept o'er the billowy sea. 

"The waves rolled up like mountains, 
They raged both fore and aft ; 

They swept across the gunwale 
And tossed on high the craft. 

"And twice the gallant mate and crew 

Were cast upon the main, 
And twice they climbed into the boat 

And set her right again. 

"Now a deadly cold ran through their 
And chilled them to the core, 
Unnerved their frames, benumbed their 
And froze them to the oar. 

"No moan they made, no cry they 

They scarcely drew a breath, 
But sat erect, faced toward the wreck, 

Calmly awaiting death. 

"And the cruel sea rose up in wrath 
And snatched them to her breast, 

And shrieked a fearful requiem song 
To their eternal rest. 



"But still the wave-tossed boat moved 

Nor yet was heard a groan, 
For gallant Henry's manly form 

Sat there erect alone ! 

"He cut the rope and bound him 

Securely to the deck, 
And sat he there, his back to us — 

His face was to the wreck. 

"Then mustering all his failing force 
To reach the wreck he wrought, 

'Gainst surging seas and numbing cold, 
Right manfully he fought. 

"But be his spirit e'er so strong, 

How brave soe'er he be, 
What can one man's best strength 

Against an angry sea. 

"The oars slipped from his nerveless 

His hands now forceless fell, 
Yet still his face was to the wreck, 

As the sea shrieked forth his knell. 

"Then a cry went forth from our gal- 
lant boat, 

'To the rescue, comrades all !' 
And every sailor man that day 

Responded to the call. 

"They made for him with might and 

With lightning speed they sped, 
And Henry found they rigid there, 

But his soul had forever fled. 

"And then we simple sailor men 
All felt as our eyes grew dim, 

That the God of love who crowns the 
Would find a place for him. 

"And now ye gentle landsfolk. 

Who hear the tale I tell, 
Say, would your polished landsmen 

Act as nobly or as well ?" 

John H. Ryan, '01. 



IF we could raise ourselves high 
enough above the valley of the 
Mississippi, about midway be- 
tween Canada and Mexico, and if 
we had sight keen enough to take 
in the vast extent — this is what 
we should see: 

Between two great oceans, near- 
ly in the shape of a parallelogram, 
and occupying the central portion 
of a continent — an area of more 
than three million square miles. 
Standing out in bold relief are the 
Rocky Mountains in the west 
and the Alleglianies in the east, 
with minor chains issuing from 
either of these two, and losing 

themselves in the valley of the 
Mississippi River, or that of the 
Great Salt Lake. 

Between these two mountain 
ranges is the great valley of the 
Mississippi river, that mighty 
stream that bears to the gulf of 
Mexico the many waters of that 
vast mountain walled country. 
Mountains, then, to the right and 
to the left, sloping to the main 
on one side, and to the central 
valley on the other — such is the 
outlined picture that meets the 
eye from afar. 

If these outlines interest you, 
and you are disposed to look at 



the picture a little more closely, 
without being too exacting in de- 
tails, let me accompany you on a 
balloon trip over different parts 
of the scene thus marked out. 

Starting from our College home, 
among the pine-girt hills of Ala- 
bama, with the gulf in view to the 
right of us, we direct our aerial 
course towards the Atlantic slope, 
over the "Land of Flowers" and of 
tropical fruits, across the Sewanee 
river and the red hills of Geor- 

Leaving the Palmetto State to 
our right, we steer northward in 
a middle course between the Alle- 
ghanies and the sea. Behind us 
we have left the fields ol cotton, 
rice and corn. A hilly tract, rich 
and picturesque, lies before us. 
Now it is the pine forests and to- 
bacco farms of North Carolina, 
now the beautiful mountains of 
the two Virginias, rich in their 
mineral resources and their de- 
lightful climate. 

What is that bright spot which 
even at this distance dazzles the 
eye? That is the dome of the 
capitol at Washington, which, by 
the way, is one of the finest pub- 
lic buildings in the world, and the 
shaft you see near it is the famous 
Washington monument, over 500 
feet high. Now we are in Mary- 
land, rich in all forms of vegeta- 
tion and in commerce; that large 
sheet of water indenting the land 
is Chesapeake bay — a delightful 
view, indeed, — but presently it is 
obscured by the smoke of factories 
rising thick below us. These are 
the coal and iron works of Penn- 

sylvania; next the eye is relieved 
by the sight of the rich and level 
lands of Delaware, the ship-build- 
ing state, and by the green gar- 
dens of New Jersey, washed by 
the waters of the Atlantic ; and 
then we come to New York, the 
Empire State, thickly populated, 
beautiful in its mountain and wa- 
ter scenery, and rich in commer- 
cial advantages. 

Here, while contemplating the 
beauties of the "lordly Hudson," 
let us pause to take a general view 
of the New England states — all of 
which, excepting Vermont, enjoy 
the advantages of the sea-coast. 
Manufactures, you will notice, is 
the leading industry of this sec- 
tion; but fishing and ship-building 
are also carried on extensively. 
There are the Green Mountains of 
Vermont, which tourists speak 
about; and if you look towards 
the Massachusetts sea-coast, you 
may descry Plymouth Rock, and 
perhaps Bunker Hill, both of his- 
toric fame. 

But, to continue our journey, 
we leave the hum of crowded 
cities, and the busy slope of the 
Atlantic, and we direct our course 
towards the valley of the Missis- 
sippi, where the great river 
springs from the little lake Itasca. 

But, first, what unusual sight is 
this ? A vast sheet of crystal wa- 
ter, broken into five large bodies, 
ocean-like yet inland, and commu- 
nicating through a great river 
with the Atlantic. These are the 
"Great Lakes" of North America ; 
they contain two-thirds of the 
fresh water of the globe. Beauti- 



ful are these waters dotted with 
many sails. This gives you an 
idea of the state of commerce in 
this part of the country. The 
double peninsula of Michigan 
enjoys all the advantages of a 
great coast line, and its rich vege- 
tation shows the fertility of its 
soil. In fact, the whole valley of 
the Mississippi, which now lies 
before us, is remarkably fertile. 
Varying in its appearance accord- 
ing to its adaptation to diverse 
industries, you will remark that 
agriculture is the chief pursuit of 
the people from Minnesota down 
to Louisiana. 

On the east side of the river, 
frequent cities, many of them 
large, tell of a brisk trade. Prom- 
inent among these is the gigantic 
though youthful Chicago, Queen 
City of the lakes. Covering the 
unbuilt lands, as far down as the 
Ohio river, are well tilled fields, 
mostly of wheat. 

On the west side of the great 
river, cities are fewer — this is the 
granary of the United States, the 
home of thrifty farmers and stock 
raisers. Here, before resuming our 
course southward, let us turn 
more towards the west — it will be 
worth the delay. 

Thinly populated, the "Great 
Wild West" shows nature forth in 
all her pristine grandeur. Perched 
high in air, like the eagle's nest, 
is the city of Denver, 5,000 feet 
above sea level — the highest city 
in the United States. The Yos- 
emite valley and Yosemite Falls, 
the Big Tree Groves, Lake Tahoe 
and the Geyser Hot Springs are 

some of the natural curiosities 
which we would like to examine 
more closely and in detail, for they 
are things of beauty ! Nor does 
beauty thrive here alone, for the 
great West is one vast mine of 
wealth. The Eocky Mountains 
furnish nearly one-half of the gold 
and silver of the world. 

Agriculture is not extensively 
pursued; still the soil in some 
parts is very fertile, as the phe- 
nomenal growth of trees indicates. 
California has vast orchards of 
various fruits. Its vineyards are 
fast rising into prominence and 
already compare favorably with 
those of the Old World. 

In this part of the country, too, 
dwell most of the remaining tribes 
of our American Indians, once the 
sole inhabitants of this continent, 
but now by law confined to gov- 
ernment reservations in various 
states and territories. 

But we must hasten on ! We 
have strayed far beyond Missouri; 
thither let us return. There a 
change of scenery awaits us. Kich 
mines of iron, coal and lead, ex- 
tensive manufactories, all vying 
with the products of the farm for 
the staple industry. Here is St. 
Louis, the commercial centre of 
the country, marking off almost 
mathematically the lice between 
north and south, between east and 
west, while from its advantageous 
position, in close commercial con- 
nection with all parts of the Union. 
Just above the city the muddy 
waters of the Missouri flow into 
the Mississippi, and not far below 
it the Ohio meets the parent 



stream — both vastly swelling the 
great river. 

East of the Mississippi, a pic- 
turesque scenery greets the eye. 
Hills and plains, beautifully ming- 
ling, show us now the fields of 
cotton, rye or tobacco ; now the 
rich green pasturage of the Blue- 
grass state. We see vast mines 
of coal in Tennessee, of coal and 
iron in Alabama, Mississippi, the 
leading cotton state, to our left, 

and beyond that, low and level 
Louisiana, land of the sugar-cane, 
and the boundless prairies of the 
Lone Star state. 

We would fain continue our 
airy trip and tarry over the beau- 
ties of the fair southwest, but I 
see the gilded dome that tops our 
College home, and invites us to 
rest after a wonderful journey. 

Clarence A. Costello, '04. 


THE only lasting and trust- 
worthy monument to a man's 
memory are his works. His only 
real tombstone is the one which 
he himself has reared ; his only 
truthful epitaph is the one which 
his own hand has carved upon the 
tablet of ages ; his only accurate 
record is the one which his own 
pen has traced upon the scroll of 
history. Not as a man has spoken, 
but as he has wrought, so should 
his worth be valued by posterity. 

A grand Cathedral, a beautiful 
Convent, a thriving College, — 
such are the works of Mobile's 
first Prelate, r such the triple shaft 
raised on high to perpetuate the 
glorious merits of the zealous and 
saintly Bishop Michael Por- 

He came to the Gulf City in 
1826 as Vicar Apostolic ; his death 
occurred in May, 1859. Upon his 
arrival, his field of labor was one 
wild tract of land, but thinly popu- 
lated, with few Catholics, only 

two churches and three priests. 
When called to his crown thirty 
years later, he left behind him a 
flourishing diocese with schools 
and churches in many towns and 
a zealous and fairly numerous 
clergy. A complete transforma- 
tion had been brought about, and 
that, too, in the face of difficulties 
innumerable and obstacles well- 
nigh insurmountable. 

It is not our purpose to review 
the wonderful career of this great 
pioneer Churchman; nor to follow 
his footsteps in the achievement 
of such marvellous results. We 
shall merely glance at the history 
of his threefold monument — the 
fadeless glories of his episcopate 
— the Mobile Cathedral, the Sum- 
merville Academy of the Visita- 
tion and Spring Hill College. 
They stand, and will for many 
years stand, as a brilliant testimo- 
nial of the work which a single 
man of strong will, determined 
character and heroic spirit can 



accomplish with the help of the 

In 1827, the only Catholic 
Church which Mobile possessed 
was destroy ed by a great lire 
which not only reduced the little 
edifice to ashes, but also laid 
waste a large portion of the young 
and rapidly growing city. This 
was indeed a great blow to the 
Bishop, and, coming as it did when 
his finances were in straitened 
circumstances, served to make the 
loss the more bitter. 

Nothing daunted, however, his 
bold and persevering nature im- 
mediately manifested itself in re- 
newed efforts to raise another 
temple of God. Shortly after- 
wards, a little frame edifice was 
built on the site of the former 
church. This the bishop used as 
his Cathedral. For a long time it 
stood thus, until the increasing 
congregation demanded a more 
spacious building. Year after 
year it underwent changes, un- 
til, in the early thirties, Bishop 
Portier planned a new church 
larger and more beautiful than the 
one then standing. 

Accordingly he set to work with 
great energy. The structure was 
commenced in 1835, and, on the 
occasion of laying the first stone 
Archbishop Purcell, of Cincinnati, 
delivered an eloquent address. 
Owing to various hardships and 
difficulties, the work was inter- 
rupted from time to time. Bishop 
Portier, however, was not a man 
to be overcome by obstacles; this 
delay served only as a stimulus, 
inciting him to greater effort and 

determination. The new building 
progressed, and day after day its 
arches and columns became more 
imposing. At length, after a 
lapse of fifteen years, the magnifi- 

It is a noble edifice of Corin- 
thian architecture, measuring 102 
feet in front by 162 in depth. It 
is situated nearly in the centre of 
Mobile, and overlooks two of its 
principal streets. The rising sun- 
beams play upon its gilded crosses, 
while its two towers rise in splen- 
dor over the graceful pile. In the 
year 1850, it was solemnly conse- 
crated in honor of Her whose 
name it bears. The Right Rever- 
end Ignatius A. Reynolds, Bishop 
of Charleston, officiated at its 
dedication. The first Pontifical 
High Mass that followed was of- 
fered by Bishop Portier, and 
Bishop Spalding preached a mas- 
terly sermon. 

The lofty portico, with its eight 
huge columns, was added by 
Bishop Quinlan. The late lament- 
ed Bishop O'Sullivan paved the 
portico and beautified the interior 
of the building with frescoes and 
ornaments. Each successive pre- 
late has added to its grandeur, 
but it stands as the living monu- 
ment of only one, its saintly 

TATION, just outside of Mobile, 
is Bishop Portier's second glory. 
At his urgent appeal in 1833, the 
community of Georgetown sent 
eight Sisters to aid him in his 



holy work. Hitherto there had 
been no religious body in his 
diocese, which then extended 
over three states, and thus these 
Yisitandines enjoyed the distinc- 
tion of being the pioneer religious 
in this section, and the glory of 
constituting the second house of 
their order in the United States. 

The Bishop, with his usual gen- 
erosity, gave the Sisters the small 
house in which they first took up 
their humble abode. On the 8th 
of December, 1833, he said Mass 
here for the first time, and placed 
the Blessed Sacrament under their 

In the month of March, 1858, a 
terrific storm destroyed their low- 
ly building, and nearly killed all 
the inmates. The tempest burst 
over them on the eve of the An- 
nunciation, and for a great part of 
the night they were exposed to 
the violence of the wind and rain. 

The good Bishop visited his lit- 
tle colony the next day, and while 
sadly viewing the havoc of the 
preceding night, made prepara- 
tions for relief and comfort. Hear- 
ing of the desolation of this once 
thriving little school and con- 
vent, all .of the neighborhood, 
even Protestants, came to the as- 
sistance of the Sisters. Soon the 
ruins became less unsightly, and 
the little home was once more 
made habitable. 

But Bishop Portier wished to 
erect something more substantial. 
Consequently, letters of appeal 
were sent out and were published 
in the New Orleans and local 
papers. People responded read- 

ily and generously, and after a 
few months the good sisters were 
established in a more comfortable 
domicile; a handsome and commo- 
dious chapel was also built beside 
their Convent home. The Bishop 
himself superintended the work 
of construction and greatly re- 
joiced over the fulfilment of his 
cherished plans. 

In the midst of this happy state 
of affairs, a shadow fell upon the 
prosperous scene. On the 8th of 
May, 1854, a disastrous fire oc- 
curred and left the monastery and 
chapel but a heap of smouldering 
ruins. When the news of the de- 
struction reached the Bishop at 
the Cathedral, he was unable to re- 
strain his emotion. He hastened 
to his once more homeless colo- 
ny and bade them have cour- 
age. He promised them that a 
more beautiful convent and chapel 
would rise above the ruins ; at 
the same time he told them that 
he himself would not erect them, 
because of his declining years, but 
he would look down from heaven 
on their work and help them to 
succeed. His words were pro- 
phetic. He certainly kept his 
promise to aid them from heaven, 
for where once the little convent 
and chapel stood, there now rises 
a spacious and shapely building, 
and adjoining it the most beauti- 
ful chapel in all the Southland. 

The last gem in Bishop Por- 
tier's earthly diadem is SPRING 

Jules M. Burguieres, '00. 


T .THEN the humble, hard-work - 
■"■ ing Brother Mengus was 
called to his reward last Novem- 
ber, one of the longest and best- 
known residents of the College 
passed away. Nearly all his life 
as a religious was spent here ; and 
the fathers of some of the present 
students knew him more than 
forty years ago. 

Brother John Mengus was born 
in Alsace on the 25th of July, 
1822. He belonged to a good 
Catholic family, and was early 
trained in the ways of faith and 
virtue. One of his brothers is a 
zealous Parish Priest in his native 
land. They were life-long corres- 

Brother Mengus came to Amer- 
ica in the fifties, and was admitted 
into the Society of Jesus on the 
9th of April, 1859. He was then 
stationed at Spring Hill College, 
and left its roof but once, in the 
seventies, to spend a short time 
in St. Charles College, Grand Co- 
teau. Almost the sole occupation 
of his life was gardening. 

He was an indefatigable la- 
borer, "a veritable Trojan," some 
one called him who was de- 
scribing his love and ardor for 
work. He knew not what it was to 
restrain his energies, but, begin- 
ning early and finishing late, he 
could not live without steady occu- 
pation. Even after he had become 
infirm, he still persisted in doing 
odd tasks about the house and 

grounds, until his superiors pru- 
dently ordered him to cease. 

At length, after a long career of 
humble yet useful labor, all un- 
known to the world outside, the 
good Brother died calmly and 
piously on the 8th of last No- 
vember. The students attended 
his funeral in a body, and the 
members of the Philosophy Class 
acted as pallbearers. He was 
laid to rest in the neat little ceme- 
tery beneath the shadow of the 
swaying pines. 

Besides being noted as an ever 
active laborer for God's glory, 
Brother Mengus was distinguished 
for his spirit of simple and earnest 
piety. He aptly joined the "orare" 
with the "laborare" ; his life may 
indeed be truthfully summed 
up in the two words: "Work 
and Prayer." We shall not soon 
forget the touching spectacle pre- 
sented by the holy brother, as he 
walked around with his walking- 
stick in one hand and his prayer- 
beads in the other, fervently sup- 
plicating the Mother of mercy. 

Yet withal, his was a gentle 
spirit, always genial, always hap- 
py, and he would never meet any 
one but with a smile and a cheer- 
ing word. We have no doubt 
that his many and noble virtues 
have won for him a bright crown 
and a high place among Saint Ig- 
natius and his noble band in 

Wallace Prejean, '00. 


"Well, Horace, are you going?" 

"Yes, indeed ! Everything was 
settled yesterday; my mother 
gave her consent, but it cost her 
to do so, I assure you. I have 
already been examined, and they 
labelled me O. K." 

"Why, did you expect to be re- 

"Not quite; but you know 
Uncle Sam is so particular that 
there's no telling but he might 
have found out that I was too tall 
for my weight or too heavy for 
my height. Who knows?" 

The last speaker was a robust 
and shapely youth of about twenty 
years of age, living in the town of 
Alliance, Ohio. His name was 
Horace Moultrie, and he was one 
of a large number who had en- 
listed from the same town for the 
Spanish-American war. The most 
of these were destined for the 
Volunteer Army, but some few 
entered the Regulars as a fighting 
complement to the different regi- 

Among these latter, were young 
Moultrie and about five or six of 
his friends, all of whom had been 
mustered into the 21st Infantry. 
This was one of the regiments 
which had early been ordered to 
move southwards. The recruits 
were directed to join their com- 
mands in Mobile. 

The day of their departure 
dawned, a balmy, cheery day in 
mid-April. Stern winter's snows 

had thawed away, and bounteous 
Spring had already begun to 
spread her verdant mantle upon 
the earth. The golden sun was 
shining brightly and the birds 
were singing gaily in tree and 
shrub. Joy held sway every- 
where, save among the scattered 
groups of men and women gath- 
ered on the platform of the little 
station-house. The train was due 
in a few minutes, — and parents, 
relatives and friends were assem- 
bled to bid the soldier-boys fare- 
well. Many a fond word . was 
spoken, many a warm tear was 
shed, many a tender heart ached, 
as mother and son, husband and 
wife, lover and beloved, parted, 
perhaps never more to behold one 
another in this life. 

At one end of the waiting-stage 
and somewhat separated from the 
others, stood Horace and his 
mother, engaged in earnest con- 
versation. Mrs. Moultrie, a gen- 
tle, devoted lady, now widowed 
many years, was living with a 
married son on his farm near Al- 
liance. It had been a keen sacri- 
fice to part with her youngest-born 
and favorite, but she had gener- 
ously yielded him up for her coun- 
try's service. Now, she had ac- 
companied him to the station, and, 
with tear-dimmed eyes and tremu- 
lous voice, was giving him her 
last words of advice and comfort. 

"Be brave, my darling, and 
serve your flag loyally. Alw T ays 



do your duty, and, above all, keep 
out of bad company." 

"I promise you, mother, I will 
behave in a manner becoming your 

"I know you will, my boy," an- 
swered she between sobs. Then 
taking something from her pocket, 
she resumed: "Here, Horace, is 
a treasure I prize dearly. It is a 
pair of Rosary beads presented to 
me by your noble father on the 
happy day of our marriage, thirty- 
seven years ago. Keep them 
sacredly and pray on them now 
and then." 

"Yes, mother, I will," replied 
the lad. "How can I thank you 
for this ! I will never part with 
them: rather will I die with them 
around my neck." 

"My brave boy !" eagerly ex- 
claimed Mrs. Moultrie. Just then 
the train drew up to the station. 
As it rang for "All aboard !" she 
hastily kissed her son several 
times, and with a hearty "God 
bless you," sent him forth to fight 
his country's battles. 

He quickly bid all his friends 
good-bye, and then disappeared 
into one of the rear coaches. The 
whistle blew and the bell clanged, 
and the iron monster puffed its 
way out of town southward-bound. 
Horace sat near a window and 
waved his hand to those he was 
leaving behind. For a long time 
his eyes were riveted on an elder- 
ly figure wearing a plain calico 
bonnet and casting wistful glances 
at the fast receding train. At 
last, when he could behold her no 
more, he sorrowfully turned his 

head away and sighed ; and he felt 
a weight upon his heart. 

After awhile, however, he joined 
in conversation with his fellow 
travellers, as forlorn as himself; 
and, by dint of an effort on the 
part of each one of them, they 
succeeded in making the time pass 
pleasantly enough along the route. 
In about twenty-four hours they 
reached their destination. 

"Mobile !" twanged the porter, 
and the recruits knew their jour- 
ney was at an end and their mili- 
tary career about to begin. As 
soon as they arrived, they report- 
ed to headquarters at Camp Cop- 

This post, established as a tem- 
porary station only, was named 
after the valiant General in com- 
mand. It was situated on a pine- 
girt hill about five miles west of 
the city. It bordered on a pic- 
turesque streamlet known as 
Three mile Creek. Six or seven 
regiments made it their tenting 

The new-comers did not take 
long to accustom themselves to 
their new life and surroundings. 
They went through the regulation 
system of drilling, and soon be- 
came so proficient that they could 
scarcely be distinguished from the 
more experienced among the sol- 

Horace Moultrie fell into line 
very quickly and naturally, and 
made a model son of Mars. He 
was noted for his exact observ- 
ance of military discipline and 
prompt obedience to orders. 
Regular in his habits and addicted 



to no unruly vices, he could al- 
ways be relied upon for the quick 
and accurate execution of any 
command, and, hence, became a 
great favorite with his superior 

"Tell Moultrie to look after it," 
his captain got into the habit of 
saying, whenever he wanted to 
make sure that an urgent matter 
would be properly attended to. 

He never forgot his mother's 
parting instructions. Careful 
about his choice of companions, 
he kept out of all gambling, drink- 
ing and brawling, and was looked 
upon as one of the most orderly 
yOung men in the camp. When- 
ever he was free on Sundays, he 
always assisted at Mass, either at 
the Visitation Academy Chapel or 
at the Spring Hill College Church, 
about a mile to the westward. 
His night and morning prayers he 
made a necessary portion of his 
daily life, and he never lost sight 
of his God in the midst of his 
military avocations. 

While thus putting duty before 
pleasure, Horace did not cast the 
latter aside altogether. He was 
of a lively and genial disposition 
and readily joined in all the harm- 
less pastimes which helped to re- 
lieve the monotony of camp life. 
At all the soldiers' concerts and 
carousals, he was always prepared 
with a recitation or a song, which 
was sure to be received with en- 
thusiasm. If a crowd got together 
for the purpose of tossing up 
strolling darkey boys in blankets, 
he was there to lend a hand in the 

Whenever there was a game of 
baseball between the 21sts and 
another regimental team, his- men 
would invariably call for -'Horace 
Moultrie on second!" For they 
knew that with him on the key- 
stone base, they would see gen- 
uine, wide-awake playing, no mat- 
ter how the score stood. He dis- 
played as much dash and earnest- 
ness in an uphill contest as in an 
easy victory. Once his club 
crossed bats with the Spring Hill 
College Nine; but the military 
sportsmen were no match for the 
student athletes, as the score— 
S. H. C, 17, 21st, 5— amply testi- 
fies. Horace made two of those 
five runs. 

The principal attraction, how- 
ever, which Spring Hill possessed 
for the soldiers of Camp Coppin- 
ger was the beautiful College 
Lake, nestling at the base of a 
thickly wooded knoll. In its 
waters they spent many a joyful 
hour, deeming it a rare pleasure 
indeed to disport in such a cool, 
refreshingpool. "You can't strike 
this everywhere," as they laconi- 
cally expressed it. 

One day a large crowd of them 
were in swimming, Horace Moul- 
trie among them. They were hav- 
ing a royal time. Plunge after 
plunge, — now in, now out, — now 
floating on the glassy liquid, now 
buried in its crystal depths, — they 
thought no more of "taps" and 
imagined they were in a paradise 
of delight. 

After a while, in the midst of 
their enjoyment, some one noticed 
that Horace was continually 



diving in the same place, as if in 
search of something. He called 
out to him: 

"What's the matter, Moultrie 1 
Lost your ring?" 

"No !» 

"Well, what are you looking 
for?" inquired his comrade. 

"I am trying to find my Rosary, 
which slipped off my neck while I 
was playing around with Jim 

"We'll help you look for it. 
Where did you drop it ?" 

"Right here opposite this spring- 
board," answered Horace. 

"Come along, boys ! Let's see 
who'll pick it up first !" 

And the speaker jumped in, 
shortly followed by others, who 
sought over and over again for 
the lost article. 

Whilst the soldiers were en- 
gaged in this pursuit, the Junior 
College boys came tripping down 
for a bath. Finding out what the 
excitement was about, some of 
their champion divers offered to 
recover the beads. 

"I'll bet you I'll find them !" 

"I'll bet you won't ! I'm going 
to land right on them." 

"Come along! here goes!" 

In the midst of such palavering 
and a great deal more, the young- 
sters jumped in with a splash! 
and began to feel along the bot- 
tom for the object of their quest. 
At length, after several unsuccess- 
ful attempts, one little slim fellow 
with curly hair brought up the 
lost treasure, a beautiful pearl 

"I've got them! Hurrah!" 

eagerly shouted the successful 
diver, as he took them in triumph 
to their grateful owner. 

"A thousand thanks !" said 
Horace, unable fully to express in 
words what he felt in his heart, "I 
prize them highly ; they are my 
mother's parting gift." 

For a slight token of his grati- 
tude, he made the boy a present 
of a brace of Krag-Jorgensen 
shells, "a souvenir," he explained, 
"of the coming war." 

He occasionally visited the Col- 
lege after this occurrence and 
found many friends among the 
students, especially the Juniors. 

How happily the time sped by 
in Camp-Coppinger ! The soldier- 
boys could hardly realize that the 
flower-wreathed month of May 
was drawing to its close. Soon, 
however, an element of uncer- 
tainty began to mar their joyous- 
ness. Each day some rumor 
spread around about their depart- 
ure for the field of war. "Next 
week!" "In three days!" "To- 
morrow !" These words were re- 
peated several times over, and 
still they were kept in the awful 
state of suspense. 

At length, one evening, the 
General in command received a 
sealed order from Washington. 
He broke it open, read it over 
carefully and then communicated 
its contents to his staff, who sent 
word to all the regimental officers. 

"Leave to-morrow for Tampa." 

The news spread like wild-fire 
from company to company, and as 
each received the welcome tidings, 
they shouted with relief, perhaps 



as much as with delight. The 
hills and dells rang with their 
gladsome cheers. At last the 
long-looked-for order had come ! 
They would now see service in 
actual war! 

Preparations were soon made 
for the trip ; everything was put 
in order for decamping overnight. 
Early in the morning they struck 
their tents and were moving with 
the sunrise. 

The tiresome march to Mobile 
on a hot, sultry day; the embarka- 
tion on board the transports amid 
the loyal and enthusiastic shouts 
of the men, women and children 
that thronged the river bank ; the 
monotonous voyage over the blue 
waters of the Mexican Gulf, with 
nothing in sight save a dim shore- 
line and an occasional flitting sail; 
the arrival at Tampa and long and 
anxious stay in the Flowery State; 
the final landing at Guantanamo 
Bay, — all these incidents, though 
spread over a stretch of weeks, 
were so crowded together and so 
unimportant as compared to the 
grand event of engaging in real 
battle that they passed by without 
attracting much notice. 

Ashore on Cuban soil at last, 
there was no time to be wasted, 
as the order for fighting was ex- 
pected at any moment. A suit- 
able site among the palms and 
cactus was selected for a camping 
ground, and all was put in readi- 
ness for a brisk campaign. In a 
few days, the advance on Santiago 
by way of El Oaney and San Juan 
Hill was begun. 

On July 1st, at early dawn, the 

word to "Forward March !" was 
given, and the long line of Ameri- 
can troops moved towards the lit- 
tle village. Immediately they 
opened fire on the enemy's bat- 
teries, and fought like fiends for 
every inch of ground they gained. 
They were met by a vigorous re- 
sponse from the Spaniards, who, 
intrenched behind ramparts,iences 
and bushes, poured a destructive 
volley of shells on the besiegers. 
The assault was fierce, but the 
resistance was just as stubborn, 
and whatever advantage the Amer- 
icans secured was bought at the 
price of much bloodshed. 

Foremost among the army of 
brave combatants was the gallant 
21st, officers and men vying with 
one another for the honors of the 
day. The effective assistance 
which they rendered on the right- 
hand road to General Hawkins 7 
Brigade contributed not a little to 
the success of the charge; and 
they can justly claim their share 
of merit for the brilliant showing 
made by the Boys in Blue on that 
eventful day. Yet, the glory 
which they earned was not un- 
dimmed by the shadow of sorrow, 
for many of their ablest officers 
and bravest men fell in the hard- 
fought engagement. 

At the first intimation of actual 
hostilities, Horace Moultrie, al- 
ways striving to do right, had 
hastened to make his peace with 
his Creator. By a special leave, 
he had crossed over the 22d's 
lines, and had been shriven by 
their valiant chaplain, the soldier- 
boy's friend, Father Fitzgerald. 



After confession, he had a long 
and serious conversation with the 
noble-hearted priest. On the 
night preceding the battle, 
he spent much time in earnest 
prayer, especially in reciting his 
Eosary to Her in whose protect- 
ing hands he placed his welfare. 
Having God with him, he was 
afraid to meet no mortal foe. 

When the bugle sounded 
"Charge," and the fight up San 
Juan Hill was opened, Horace 
Moultrie marched undaunted with 
his fearless regiment. Unflinch- 
ingly he faced the deathly fire, and 
quickly and surely returned it. 
Not for a moment did he shrink 
from his arduous duty. 

In the heat of the engagement, 
his colonel gave the order to take 
possession of a block-house a few 
hundred yards ahead. Moultrie 
was among the detachment that 
proceeded to do his behest. Bold- 
ly, bravely they stepped forth, 
bearing the Stars and Stripes 
aloft before them. A hail of Mau- 
ser bullets was tailing on all sides. 
First one man dropped, then an- 
other: when they had reached 
their destination, and hoisted the 
colors over the block-house, 
eleven of their comrades were 

At the end of this first day's vig- 

orous fighting, when the Ambu- 
lance Corps made its rounds of the 
battle-field, one of their number 
stumbled against a young private 
lying prostrate with a deep wound 
in his left side. He was not dead, 
but in a dimly conscious state, and 
grasped with his right hand a pearl 
Rosary which he had suspended 
about his shoulders. He was suf- 
fering intensely and looked up 
pitifully at his visitor. It was 
evident he was not long for this 

"Are you much hurt, my good 
friend?" asked the ambulance 
man, soothingly. 

"Did — we— gain V 7 the 

young soldier faltered and gasped 
in pain. 

"Yes, we gained the victory." 

A faint smile lit up his distorted 
features; it quickly disappeared, 
and his death-like look returned. 

"Come, we must take you to a 
safe place." 

"Yes! No!— My God! Tell 
moth— » 

The word was never finished — 
a soul had taken its flight heaven- 

Horace Moultrie, with his 
mother's Rosary twined round his 
neck, died as he had lived, a brave 
warrior and a loyal Christian. 
Maximin D. Totjart, '03. 


Quern veneranda vocat gaudens Ecclesia Mater 
Justum ; Judaeis lux, honor atque decus ; 

Deliciae Domini Jesu, custosque parensque, 
O Joseph, nostris annue nunc precibus ! 


Heaven's glow is on the mountain, 
Heaven's smile is in the sky; 

Heaven's rainbow sround the fountain 
Breathe the love of God on high. 

Linger, O sweet sunlight, linger! 

Sink not sadly thus to sleep, 
Where the Night, with sable finger, 

Lays her hand upon the deep! 

Infant Jesus, fair as skylight, 

Smile the smile that knows no dross, 

While beyond the distant twilight, 
Looms the night-fall of the Cross! 

But the Sun will rise to-morrow, 
As he rose in days of yore : 

Jesus! raise the veil of sorrow, 
Till we see Thee evermore. 



EARLY on the morning of Au- or by steamer on the swift flowing 

gust 23d, 1899, I boarded a waters, 

train at Quebec, bound for the I made the short journey by 

shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupre. rail, and from the window of 

Of the many interesting spots the car, I could follow the 
in and around the quaint and his- winding course of that beautiful 
toriccity of Quebec, this ispernaps and mighty stream, which never 
the most interesting, and surely, disappeared entirely from view, 
from whatever point of view, the As we pulled away from the mas- 
most deeply impressive. sive walls of Quebec, with both 

It is situated twenty-one miles banks of the St. Lawrence plainly 

to the north of Quebec, on the St. in sight, a most fascinating and 

Lawrence river, and is reached ever-changing picture presented 

either by railway along the bank, itself to my eager gaze — every- 




thing was so different from any- 
thing I had seen in the States. 

We passed through several vil- 
lages nestling at the base and 
in the recesses of the moun- 
tains. The houses, mostly small, 
but neat, are of unique de- 
sign, and no matter how small the 
village, in a prominent position I 
could seethe steeple of a Catholic 

Now we are speeding over a 
a rich meadow, where numerous 
cows graze peacefully, and a mo- 
ment later there bursts upon us 
the sight of Montmorenci Falls, 
ons hundred feet higher than 
those of Niagara. The train 
slackens speed, while we gaze upon 
this gorgeous sight ; then we con- 
tinue our journey through more 
Canadian villages, and after an 
hour's ride we come to our desti- 

The first object that attracts my 
attention is the large and magnifi- 
cent church with its twin towers. 
This imposing edifice is new, but 
the shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupre 
was known already 250 years ago. 
Its origin, according to the tradi- 
tion handed down by the good 
people of the country, is briefly 
thus : 

Early in the seventeenth cen- 
tury some Breton mariners, who 
were overtaken by a violent storm 
on the St. Lawrence, solemnly 
vowed to Ste. Anne that if deliv 
ered from the dangers which 
threatened them, they would erect 
a sanctuary in her honor on the 
spot where they should land. 
Their prayer was heard, and to 

fulfil their vow they built a small 
wooden chapel, which soon be- 
came so famous that in the year 
1660 it was replaced by a finer 
structure. This was subsequently 
enlarged, and after about a centu- 
ry's existence, was almost en- 
tirely rebuilt in 1787, and again 
in 1878 — still occupying its origi- 
nal site near the "Sacred Spring" 
whose waters are known to have 
wrought miraculous cures. 

Just on the opposite side of the 
street stands the magnificent 
church mentioned above. It is a 
grand specimen of Corinthian 
architecture, 152 feet long, 64 feet 
wide, and cost $200,000. A large 
and beautiful statue of Ste. Anne 
stands over the facade, between 
two high towers. Though not 
completed till the year 1889, the 
church was opened to public wor- 
ship as early as 1876. It is con- 
sidered one of the finest churches 
in the dominion, its interior being 
full of magnificent paintings and 
decorations, the work of famed 

At the head of the middle aisle 
stands a beautiful and rich statue 
of Ste. Anne, the gift of a lady who 
was cured through her interces- 
sion. At the foot of this statue 
are deposited relics of the Saint. 

As evidence of what Ste. Anne 
has done for her clients, at the en- 
trance of the church are two pyra- 
mids of crutches, abandoned at 
the shrine. There are also huge 
tiers of sticks and splints and 
trusses piled up eleven stories 
high, which have been left here 
because no further use was re- 

Xav/er Castle the B/rtn Place of 




quired of them. On the walls are 
marble tablets innumerable, giv- 
ing names and dates of recoveries, 
all attributed to Ste. Anne. 

The original church built by the 
hardy Bretons is still preserved. 
Just beyond it is the " Scala 
Sancta," which is a fac simile in 
wood of the original kept in Rome. 
Here, as at Rome, these steps are 
ascended on the knees, the pious 
pilgrim pausing on each step to 
meditate on the sufferings of 

Of the thousands who every 
year visit this noted shrine, it is 
needless to say that most of them 
go as pilgrims, impelled by reli- 
gious devotion to the Saint here 
honored, or to seek, through her 

intercession, aid for some infirm- 
ity under which they are laboring. 

In 1874 there were 17,200 visit- 
ors : in 1898 the pilgrims alone 
numbered 125,000. On the day of 
my visit we were at least 1,200. 

The Redemptorist Fathers, in 
charge of the shrine, are most 
kind and courteous to all visitors, 
escorting them about the grounds 
and explaining all things of inter- 
est and devotion. 

Whoever goes to Quebec should 
see this, the most interesting of 
its suburbs, for it is only an hour's 
ride from the city. My own visit 
to the shrine of Ste. Anne de Beau- 
pre I shall ever treasure among the 
most pleasant of my recollections. 
James L. Darragh, '00. 


ON a slope of the Pyrenees, 
surrounded by the unnum- 
bered oaks and walnuts that 
emerge amid the rocks of granite 
and argillite, stands the Castle of 

To the ordinary traveller the 
Castle is hardly a greater attrac- 
tion than a Carroll manor or a 
homestead of Boone. Perhaps it 
is a little older. It is a relic of 
the Middle Ages. Nothing more. 

But to the soul-stirred pilgrim, 
who has studied and pondered the 
life of Francis Xavier — to whose 
soul's vision the Apostle of the 
East still climbs the ice-clad hills 
of Japan — to whose mind the 
mark of his faith is still impressed 

in the civilization of the kingdoms 
he conquered for Christ — to him 
the grand old Castle of Xavier is 
an ever-inspiring source of reli- 
gion and devotion. 

And when he gazes upon the 
very walls that re-echoed to the 
voice of the saint, what thoughts 
are conjured up 1 

He sees the castle still standing 
in its integrity, massive and 
strong. He considers how grand- 
ly and loftily it stood in the days 
when Spain, in wealth and magni- 
ficence, ruled the world — when the 
father of Xavier was councillor 
of state to the King of Navarre, 
and his mother the owner of the 
castle, the sole heiress to the 



wealth of two distinguished 
houses of nobility — when Francis 
himself, from the splendor of his 
mansion, looked out upon the 
glory of the world that awaited 
his talent, his nobility and spirit 
of enterprise. 

Perhaps nothing so completely 
sums up the tenor of his life and 
loftiness of his soul, as that 
strange contrast between the 
birth of the saint and his death, 
his early life and his later years, 
his life of vain-glory in Navarre 
or ambitious projects in the Paris 
University, and his life of humili- 
ty, mortification and self-sacrifice 
shown in his labors among the 
tribes of India and Japan. 

It is a mystery of which the hu- 
man mind, in this life, cannot 
fathom the depths. It is that 
grand strength of soul, that parti- 
cipation of the divinity, by which 
a man rises above the nearest, 
dearest of natural ties — above 
friends, home and kindred — above 
the passions and affections com- 
mon to men — and, moving in a 
supernatural sphere, keeps his 
soul ever fixed on the Creator, 
until others, too, attracted by his 
sanctity, partake of his heavenly 

Philosophers have reasoned 
upon such characters. Orators 
have represented them. But only 
the grace of the Almighty cau 
make them really exist. Outside 
the Church of Christ, there is no 
Xavier, as there is no Paul, no 
[gnatius, no Dominic, no Assisi. 

In the light of this mystery, let 
any one of us gaze upon the Castle 

where the Apostle was born, and 
perchance those rare thoughts, 
which filled the mind of the 
pilgrim, will pour upon his own 

Consider the Apostle of the In- 
dies, the man of labor and pen- 
ance. Contemplate the haggavd 
face, the worn and weary frame. 
Picture him at the hour of death, 
on the lonely isle, exhausted, 
wearied, — the soul too active for 
the body — the sword too bright 
for its scabbard— cut off in the 
midst of unheard-of labors, dying 
in the prime of manhood ! 

The same man is born in this 
mansion of delights, bred in the 
abode of princes, reared in the 
stateliest palace of all the Pyre- 
nees, instructed in the maxims of 
the world. The same man once 
looked out upon the earth, with 
prospects such that the scenes of 
his youth, overlooking the weird 
valleys of Navarre, were only a 
shadow of the earthly glory that 
awaited him. 

What has wrought this change 
in the man of the world? Is it 
some stupendous miracle % No. 
Scarcely has Xavier been made 
professor of philosophy in the 
University of Paris— in the twenty- 
fourth year of his age — when an 
unlettered soldier, a hero from the 
siege of Pamplona, comes to the 
university. He desires to study 
the sciences. It is Ignatius of 
Loyola. From the mouth of the 
young Xavier he will learn phi- 
losophy. But the pupil soon be- 
comes the master; for he has 
learned a higher philosophy. 



"Francis!" he cried, "what will 
it profit a man to gain the whole 
world, if he lose his own soul?" 

Xavier rises from his seat. He 
gazes into the face of his friend. 
Angelic light surrounds the coun- 
tenance of Ignatius. The master 
falls before his pupil, exclaim- 
ing, "What will you have me 
to do 1 " 

"Come with me," answers Igna- 
tius, "and we will convert the 
world ! " 

The hand was clasped, the kiss 
of peace was given. Ten years 
after in the far Indies, Francis 
writes on his knees to the father 
of his soul : "Ten thousand to-day 
have received the waters of Bap- 

But what has become of the 
doctor of philosophy? Whither 
has drifted his love of poetry and 
literature? To what purpose all 
his thirst for wisdom, his study 
of the masters of art and lan- 
guage ? 

Poet of God ! We read thy soul, 
loftier than the glory of earth, in 
thy "Deus, amo Te." Orator! A 
hundred thousand souls listened 
to thy words, and with one voice 
proclaimed thy Christ to be the 
true God. Philosopher ! Well 
may the annals of the University 
of Paris number thee among her 
doctors of learning; but it was 
thy wisdom to win the benighted 
heathen to the love of Eternal 

Let worldly-minded men cry 
out, "What glory awaits him in 
his native land! What phantom 
possessed him, what fanaticism 

seized him, to leave his home and 
friends — never to return ! " 

Let them cry out against him J 
Human wisdom, as opposed to the 
conduct of Francis Xavier, is 
crushed in the very thought of his 
life and works. Had he but lived 
for another decade of years, he 
might have returned to his native 
Castle — not indeed over the sea 
to Portugal — but by land; across 
Asia and Europe, after having left 
two continents behind him, blessed 
in his path, stamped with the im- 
press of his faith and character, 
converted by his exalted purity 
and divine love. 

We hear him still, when his arm 
has fallen to his side, wearied* with 
pouring the waters of Baptism — 
still in voice and heart uttering 
that shriek of perfect love, 
"Sancta Trinitas ! " "O holy Trin- 

We see him still, on the lone 
Isle of San Chan, in the very sight 
of the continent of Asia — his heart 
feverish with longing to allure 
that land to Christ — with none but 
a wayward slave at his side to 
give him consolation — we hear 
him still, repeating and repeating 
the name of God — until his spirit, 
relieved of the "body of death," is 
wrapped in His bosom forever. 

Francis Xavier! Look down 
upon us from thy throne in 
Heavenl Be now, be forever, the 
light and guide of heroic souls in 
India, in Japan, in Alaska, or 
wherever the Claver, or Anchieta 
of whatever clime is laboring to 
tear down the idols of paganism ! 
Be thy name a star of the North, 



a vessel of strength, to guide him 
through the wildest perils and 
persecutions ! 

With this prayer, we bid adieu 
to the Castle of Xavier. Fare- 
well, ye massive halls that 

trembled beneath his step — Cru- 
cifix that bled to his sufferings — 
woodlands that re-echoed to his 
voice, farewell ! 

Carl E. Bratjn, 01. 



[From the American Journal of Health of August 26, 1899.] 
By L. D. Thomas, M. D. 

THE care which lays heaviest 
on the minds of many parents 
throughout the land to-day is in 
regard to the selection of an insti- 
tution of learning to which they 
may, with perfect confidence, en- 
trust their sous and daughters. 
There are so many things to be 
thought of in this connection that 
fathers and mothers often forget 
to give sufficient consideration to 
the sanitary conditions belonging 
to a school or college. Having 
taken upon ourselves a sense of 
responsibility for the physical wel- 
fare of our readers, it is eminently 
fitting that we should emphasize 
this aspect of the student's life. 

At the time of life when a child 
usually leaves home to attend 
boarding school, he is peculiarly 
subject to impressions in his phy- 
sical as well as his mental being. 
This is a critical period. The 
presence of refining influences 
will leave a stamp of nobility on 
his nature; association with strong 
and logical thinkers will give him 
the habit of virile intellectual ef- 

grand as they are, will wither and 
die without the foundation of a 
strong and healthy constitution to 
support them. 

With this truth constantly be- 
fore us, we have spared no pains 
in investigating the hygienic con- 
ditions which surround different 
institutions of learning. And it 
was with a feeling of deepest satis- 
faction that we read the report 
sent from our representative in 
regard to Spring Hill College near 
Mobile, Alabama. 

The first point he took occasion 
to mention was its situation, which 
is singularly fortunate from the 
standpoint of health, being entire- 
ly void of those conditions which 
so often combine to produce ma- 
laria. The water supply in con- 
nection with the institution is 
plentiful, and is free from every 
trace of impurity ; while the at- 
mosphere seems to infuse the body 
with a spirit of invigoration. 

Turning now to the report we 
received in regard to the build- 
ings, we find that the dormitories 

fort; but both of these qualities, are arranged and ventilated in ac- 



cordance with the suggestions of 
the most modern scientific thought 
on this subject. 

The food supplied by Spring 
Hill College is both wholesome 
and agreeable. Nothing is omit- 
ted which, beside being appetiz- 
ing, is conducive to sound bodily 
health and vigor. 

The next matter for considera- 
tion is in regard to the lighting of 
class rooms. It is only during re- 
cent years that this subject has 
received the attention it deserves; 
for the importance of having the 
light properly adjusted, when the 
eyes are in constant use, can hard- 
ly be overestimated. In Spring 
Hill College the utmost care has 
been bestowed, not only on the 
problem in general, but on every 
phase suggested either by the doc- 
trine of science or of personal ex- 
perience. So that this institution 
has now perfected its arrange- 
ments with regard to light to such 
a degree that the least strain pos- 
sible is imposed upon the eyes. 
As the fatiguing of the delicate 
organ of sight often brings on 
other ills, such as nervous head- 
aches, the hygienist need offer no 
apology for bestowing emphasis 
on this matter. 

In regard to practical athletics, 
the students of the College are 
generously provided with every 
facility for their proper physical 
development. They enjoy the 
daily use of an excellent gymna- 
sium, equipped with a complete 
supply of A. G. Spalding's appa- 
ratus, and in which ample space 
is allotted for any and every in- 

door bodily exercise. Adjoining 
this commodious structure is the 
large rectangular Campus, cover- 
ing nearly two acres of ground. 
On it are a base ball diamond, a 
tennis court, two hand ball alleys 
and an oval running and bicycle 

About a quarter of a mile from 
the College building is situated a 
magnificent swimming pool, of 
safe and reasonable depth, fed 
from upland springs, whose pure, 
glassy waters are kept at a health- 
ful temperature by constant expo- 
sure to sun and wind. Here during 
the summer months the students 
bathe at stated times during the 
week, thus keeping their systems 
in good salutary condition, while 
indulging in one of the most agree- 
able of muscular exercises. 

Although this is primarily be- 
yond the scope of our investiga- 
tion, we feel that it is nothing 
more than simple justice to re- 
mark, in passing, the high stand- 
ard of scholarship and the dis- 
tinctly able corps of instructors 
belonging to the above mentioned 
college. We have insisted that 
without a healthy body, a strong 
mind will soon decay. We are no 
less ready to acknowledge that a 
well disciplined mind, animated 
with sound and wholesome 
thought, is conducive in a high de- 
gree to bodily health. Surely 
there is no training so well calcu- 
lated to develop the "whole man" 
as that received at some institu- 
tion which, like Spring Hill Col- 
lege, promotes intellectual and 
physical vigor in harmony. 



Zacharias — A Victim of the Factions. 

John of Ghiscala — Leader of a Faction. 

Archelaus — Follower of John of Ghiscala. 

Ananias — High Priest. 


Scene laid in Jerusalem, A. D. 70. 

[The Sanhedrim — John of G. absorbed in thought. Enter Archelaus). 

Arch. Why so pensive, my liege % that dark frown ill befits so noble 
a countenance. 

John of G. Aye, dark thoughts pervade my mind. Archelaus, thou 
ne'er hast proved unworthy of my confidence, so I trust thee. But 
let thy master's secrets be sacred to thee. 

Arch. Thou'rt all to me, my Lord; speak. 

John of G. I hate the oppression of the people, and the priests' im- 
putations are 'specially obnoxious to me. I crushed the 'cursed 
power of the priest Josephus in Ghiscala, my native city. He 
'scaped my dagger, the traitor, and sold himself to the Romans. 
To-day, he sells us all for a smile to Vespasian's son. I am now 
master in Jerusalem : I reign supreme in the Holy City, in the 
very Temple I rule; yet — one grief gnaws my heart, one fear har- 
rows my soul. 

Arch. And who the cause of this f The priests tremble before thee; 
Simon Bar Gioras has been cowed down by thee; who resists 

John of G. An old man, who hates, dares me, and calls me a tyrant! 
Me ! the enemy of tyrants ! 

Arch. Give but the name, my Lord — 

John of G. Dost know the prophet Zacharias? 

Arch. An apostate! the follower of a crucified Impostor! He is 
alone, methinks, of his cursed sect inside the walls. Did not the 
cowardly Christians flee to Pella before Titus arrived? 

John of G. He is alone, but he is powerful ; he seems virtuous, but he 
bends before no one. His courage is indomitable, and he fears no 
man. He is a dangerous enemy, for his will is inflexible. 

Arch. Full many a time thy dagger's stilled a tongue that wagged 
against thee. 

John of G. 'Tis from no conscientious qualms I harm him not! Could 
I but elude the people's wrath, my trusty dagger e'en now would 
in his heart be buried. 


Arch. Then load him with dishonor: summon him before the Sanhe- 
drim and charge him as a traitor, — thus fared his Christ! Say he 
predicts Jerusalem is predestined to fall ; that he has promised, 
when the Romans near the wall, to open the gates and give them 
access to the city. Thy sagacity will much more suggest. 

John of G. Well said ! But here come our Masters in religion. Go, 
seek thou this Zacharias, and tell him the Sanhedrim awaits his 

{Exit Arch.) I'll show him how they're served, who brave the wrath 
of John of Ghiscala. 
(Enter Ananias and Judges.) 

Anan. The strength of the Lord be with the noble leader of our gal- 
lant defenders. 

John of G. The wisdom of Jehovah be with you, Prince of Doctors, 
and your most worthy associates. (Anan. and Judges seat them- 
selves. John of G. remains standing.) Till now, as you know, my 
sole aim has been to preserve intact the heritage of God, to retain 
our liberty, and to keep free from corruption our Holy Religion. 

Anan. The Sanhedrim appreciates your lordship's zeal, and returns 
its hearty thanks. 

John of G. I know the sentiments of the noble lords. I know that 
all here present would rather be buried under the ruins of the 
Temple, — would rather die a thousand deaths than submit to the 

A Judge. Most certainly ! 

John of G. I know you are one with the people and me, yet, — there 
are those that speak of peace with Titus, that would betray Sion 
into the hands of our foe. I know of one, a faithless man, in whose 
breast the sacred fire of loyalty was never kindled; who uses his 
riches and his influence to betray his God and hand his city over 
to her enemies. Yes ! there is a traitor within our walls ! 

Judges. A traitor! Impossible! 

Anan. Some vile, ambitious slave who hopes to gain position by his 
perfidy % 

A Judge. Perhaps it e'en may be some evil-minded man, — a citizen, 
no doubt, who's suffered some discomfort at the bar of Justice, 
and is seeking retribution by betrayal ! 

John of G. Nay, he of whom I speak is not a slave, and to my recol- 
lection, ne'er has been before the Judges. But if he had his just 
deserts, his bones would now be mouldering in the dust. He goes 
about the streets in Prophet's guise, while in the people's hearts 
he's stirring up dissensions. He portrays me as plotting and am- 
bitious, when you all know I'm free from guile and aught that 
savors of pollution. Intrigue I've fought, and for the people 


always shown myself solicitous, — and will, until my pulse's beat 
is stopped and I am cold and lifeless. The man of whom I speak 
is a viper, who has turned against the mother that for eighty years 
has nourished and upheld him. This villain, friends, this trait'rous 
wretch is the noble Zacharias. 

Anan. Zacharias? A traitor? Never! There surely is some awful 
blunder here! 

Judges. Zacharias is a model of virtue, courage and piety ! 

John of G. Zacharias, that model of virtue, that compendium of cour- 
age and piety, that peace-loving citizen, has but one aim in life, — 
to ruin his country ! 

Anan. Zacharias has proved in every place and on every occasion, 
by his words, his tears and liberality, that he has but one thing at 
heart, the welfare of his country ! 

John of G. What ! you, Ananias, high priest of God, you would defend 
an enemy of God and of the people ? Know you not, that, faith- 
less to the law of Moses, Zacharias has embraced the doctrine of 
Jesus of Nazareth, whom Annas, your father, condemned ? 

Anan. Oh God! omit such recollections ! 

John of G. This is the man you would defend? 

Anan. Yes, if he is innocent ! 

John of G. You will judge for yourselves ; I will accuse him before 
you. When John of Ghiscala plays the accuser, he must be sure 
of the crime, of the sentence- -of the penalty ! Eemember, Judges, 
I rule here ! I demand perfect obedience to my order. Swear 
me satisfaction. If not — 

( points significantly at his sword. J 

Anan. Threats will never cause me to perjure myself. 

Judges. Let justice be done though the Heavens fall. 

(Enter Zacharias. J 

John of G. Behold the prisoner! 

Zach. Prisoner ! Do I stand before this, the most venerable assem- 
bly on earth, a prisoner? With what crime am I charged? 

John of G. The one of which thou'rt guilty, traitor ! ! ! 

Zach. But you speak in riddles ! 

John of G. Aye, riddles of which thou hast the solution. Learn, 
traitor, that thy plots are unearthed. The eye of John of Ghiscala, 
ever watchful for the people's safety, has discovered thy sedition. 
It is to pass judgment on thy machinations that the Sanhedrim is 
sitting to-day. Thy crime is great, and thy condemnation shall 
be accordingly. 

Members of the Sanhedrim: If I seem to act strangely for a war- 
rior ; if I have brought before your tribunal an aged man whom 
you revere, it is through love of country, of religion and of jus- 


tice. Zacharias has intercourse with the Roman idolaters, to 
whom he would betray our Holy City. I swear it by the Temple, 
by the safety of the people, by my word! 
Anan. We respect your lordship's oath. You can, no doubt, confirm 

it by facts. 
John of G. I myself have heard the seditious advice Zacharias gives 
the people ; I have heard the signs of perdition with which he 
tries to dampen their courage. 'Tremble!" he cries "tremble! 
the day of destruction has come! Acknowledge the Crucified for 
the true God! If not, there shall not remain a stone upon a stone 
of the walls in the which you trust!" What wonder, then, the 
people should announce their fears, and yield to terror and de- 
spair ? 
Anan. Has our lord any witnesses whom he can produce to prove 

his accusation ? 
John of G. Is there need of witnesses to calm your scruples? They 
lack not. The whole people, my soldiers, Simon Bar Gioras, my- 
self, and best of all, Zacharias himself . Speak, traitor! thine own 
words shall convict thee ! Dost thou deny having betrayed thy 
God, to profess the Faith of the Christ? That, alone of thy exe- 
crable sect, thou hast remained in the city to stir dissension in the 
people's hearts ? But enough! Members of the Sanhedrim, you 
know your duty. Spare me the trouble of having to force you to 
accomplish it. I reiterate my charge : Zacharias is a traitor ! ! ! ! 
Judges. 'Tis false ! It cannot be ! ! 
A^ian. Defend yourself, most venerable sire. We're all convinced 

you can refute the accusation. 
Zach. 'Twere useless, — a mere waste of words and time that I say 
aught in my defence. I stand before you, not as a prisoner await- 
ing justice, but as a criminal precondemned ! However, out of 
respect for your priestly character, Judges, I will explain. J wish 
to betray my country I I stir the people with seditious speeches? 
Have I then lived so long, devoted my whole life to the welfare of 
my people but to betray them on the threshold of Death? Has 
fear, then, brought me down so low, — me. who fear not thy dagger, 
John of Ghiscala ? For eighty years I've lived and stayed among 
you, helping the poor and delicate. These feeble hands have 
helped repair the walls which Roman rams had battered. And 
even in this very Hall, o'er some momentous matter, I have con- 
ferred with you. My life, then, is a secret to no one. Would I, 
think you, annul these my services by betrayal of those whom I 
have so long assisted? What would I gain? Power? How 
long would I enjoy it? An old man, with one foot in the grave, 
hovering on the brink of Eternity, my thoughts dwell not upon 


earthly glory. John of Ghiscala, you say you have witnesses 

adduce but one. I dare you ! No one appears? Members of the 
Sandedrim, L call upon you to be my witnesses. My life is my 
guarantee ! You all know whether I be the man to play the Ro- 
man slave! John of Ghiscala knows best of all, whatever he 
may pretend, my only crime's my independence! This man, my 
friends, is jealous—jealous of my popularity; nay, he fears his 
base designs will be revealed ! He'd scruple not to make your 
dead bodies the stepping-stones to his ambitious aims. He seems 
an upright man, this sanctimonious hypocrite, but his heart is as 
black as the sable robe of Night. John, hear thou my accusation 
against thee ; I accuse thee of oppressing the nation ; of ruining 
it by thy crimes! Thy wicked deeds have brought God's wrath 
upon Jerusalem, and on the Temple, desecrated by thy abomina- 
tions, the fire that soon will consume it. 

John of G. (Sneeringly.) Pleasant old man ! 

Zach. Alas ! God demands a terrible retribution ! Shall I dare enu- 
merate all thy crimes committed against Him by His chosen peo- 
ple these fifty years past? There is one I cannot omit! The Sun, 
beholding it, veiled its face ; the Earth shook to its very founda- 
tions — even the dead were awakened from their sleep, and left 
their sepulchral stones. I remember when He who gave Himself 
for the redemption of man was crucified. Full well I recollect, as 
staggering with His heavy Cross, He climbed up Calvary's heights; 
bruised and bleeding at every pore; faint from the loss of blood 
He fell exhausted at the Centurion's feet. With wicked scourge 
they did His unprotected shoulders beat, leaving huge welts and 
jagged cuts — the marks of the cruel lash. A sight it was would 
move to tears a heart of flint. I saw it all ! for — I was there ; 
(turning to Ananias,) your father Annas was there, as was your 
brother-in-law Caiphas who — 

Anan. Stop! Stop! You're leaving your subject ! 

Zach. Aye, you like not being reminded of that day. 'Twas forty 
years ago, but 'tis as fresh in my mind as if it were but yester- 
day! Forty years ago, before Christ's death, 'twas prophesied, 
one man should die that the people might live. Christ died — 
yet the people are starving — perishing by hundreds ! You know 
the reason * Then listen : When Pilate said, "I find no cause 
in Him," as with one voice the people cried: "His blood be upon 
us, and upon our children !" That awful imprecation was heard 
— behold the result: The city is forsaken by God; the dead and 
dying are piled up in the very streets ; Famine stalks about 
claiming thousands of victims! To such straits are we reduced 
that husbands from their starving wives wrest the last crust of 


bread ; children struggle with their parents for food. Mothers 
even sacrifice their little babes to save their lives by this hor- 
rid sustenance ! Ah ! Tremble ! lest Jerusalem's punishment 
astound the nations of the earth. See ye not the conquerors of 
the world encamped at our doors — their eagles soaring aloft, 
ready to pounce upon our walls'? Feel you not the vengeance 
of Jehovah coming upon you 1 O God! If it be not too late, 
spare my dear country ! Touch the hearts of Thy once cher- 
ished people! And if my life can disarm Thy just wrath — here am 
I. Be it done unto me according to Thy word. Judges, I am 
ready to receive my condemnation. 

John of G. Judges, remember your duty ! I command you to convict 
him. If not — 
(Judges confer together for a moment, then Ananias speaks.) 

Anan. There is against Zacharias neither proof nor testimony. We 
declare him, therefore, not guilty as charged. Venerable Zacha- 
rias, go thou in peace. 

Zach. Most Just Ananias; Beloved Judges: my gracious thanks! 
(Retires — John of Ghiscala follows, sword in hand.) 

John of G. Stop! Wretch!! What! He would depart triumphant 
over me ? I'll mete out the justice the Court has denied me. Za- 
charias must die ! 

Anan. Wretch! Wouldst thou dare pursue a defenceless old man 
and dip thy hands in his blood? 

A Judge. (Stepping to a window and loohing out). He is close upon 
our reverend Friend. Zacharias has turned — and is talking 
with him. O God ! Zacharias is stabbed, and falls between the 
vestibule and altar. The bloody wretch may yet complete his 

(Enter J. of G., sword in hand. Excited and breathless.) 

J.ofG. Still here % Eebellious pack ! Ananias, heartless Pontiff! 
thou art not worthy of the tiara! Avaunt! Priests! Doctors! 
You have betrayed your trust ! Leave the place ! Your reign is 
over, — mine begun ! ! ! ! 

Jack J. McGrath, '02. 


Light of heaven, gentle star ! 
Guide us to the land afar, 
Where the Light that gave thee birth 
Sheds its rays upon the earth ! 


THE morning sun was shining 
in all its brilliancy, as we 
left the busy wharf of Mobile 
bound for Fort Morgan. Our 
goodly boat, the Maud, a fast sea- 
going tug, blew its shrill whistle 
at about 8 o'clock, and we were 
soon gliding over the silvery gray 
waters of the stately river. 

We travelled at a somewhat 
moderate rate until we neared the 
Bay channel, when we sped along 
like the winged wind. Little by 
little, the housetops and towers 
and steeples grew more indistinct, 
until they assumed the shape of 
irregular mounds and peaks 
wrapped in misty clouds. 

In the meanwhile, our immedi- 
ate surroundings had shifted con- 
siderably. From the glaring 
white beach of South End and the 
thick and sombre oak groves of 
Daphne, we were passing by the 
tawny bluffs of Montrose, which 
lift their comely heads far above 
the adjoining country. They have 
an elevation of 147 feet, and are 
the highest land along the Atlan- 
tic seaboard south of New Jersey. 
Right here one can enjoy some of 
the most picturesque scenery in 
the State of Alabama. The ever- 
changing blue and gray and emer- 
ald of the Bay waters, surmounted 
by the russet of the sand and clay 
strand, and the whole crowned by 
the bright green of the pines and 
cedars, — all these beauteous tints 
and forms combine to produce a 

natural effect that is truly charm- 

Further down, after leaving be- 
hind us Fair Hope, the Single Tax 
colony, and Point Clear, a much 
frequented watering place, we 
steamed by the Mobile Bay Light 
House, situated eighteen miles 
from the city and gulf respective- 
ly. At this stage of our outing, 
we could distinguish nothing on 
any side save a mingled streak 
of shore and woodland. What a 
dreary life must not the keeper 
and his wife and children lead on 
this watery desert f How mono- 
tonous ! The only semblance of 
activity they witness is the motion 
of passing ships, swimming fish 
and flying gulls; the only change 
they experience is that of the 
weather and the seasons, — sun- 
shine one day, clouds the next, 
with an occasional storm to en- 
liven their tomb-like existence. 

Onward we moved, our trusty 
tug skimming over the greenish, 
salt-laden waters with the ease 
and grace of a swan. Very soon 
in the distance loomed up in 
shadowy dimness the outlines of 
Fort Morgan. These grew more 
and more distinct, until at length 
they assumed definite proportions, 
and we beheld in all its grim and 
rugged grandeur the redoubtable 
bulwark of Mobile Bay. 

It is situated on a low sandy 
peninsula jutting out into the 
Gulf of Mexico. On the oppo- 



site shore, Dauphin Island, which 
is three miles and a half distant, 
stands old Fort Gaines, for many 
years out of repair, but now being 
put in excellent condition by the 
government. Fort Morgan itself, 
taken as a whole, may be divided 
into three parts : the old works, 
surrounded and protected by the 
newer fortifications, and the mod- 
ern mortar battery, now in course 
of erection. Not less than two 
companies of soldiers, under com- 
mand of a senior captain, are sta- 
tioned there. 

There is not a more interesting 
sight in our broad land than the 
one on which old Fort Bowyer, 
actually Fort Morgan, is located. 
During many centuries it was the 
scene of endless conflicts for su- 
premacy between the savage Ala- 
bamas, Muscogees, Ohoctaws, 
Ohickasaws, Mobiles and Chero- 
kees. Countless bleaching bones 
scattered on the sand dunes near 
by, some partly buried with tom- 
ahawks, flint arrow-heads, beads 
and remains of artistic pottery, 
attest how far back this spot 
was considered of strategical 
value by the aborigines. But 
other burial grounds, not better 
protected and greatly crowded by 
the French under Bienville and 
Iberville, the Spaniards under 
Don Galvez, the English under 
Ellicott, and finally the Americans 
under Jackson, are there also to 
assert still more forcibly the im- 
portance of that neck of land 
where thousands of lives have 
been sacrificed at the call of the 
mother country. 

This old scarred and battered 
stronghold, whose citadel was de- 
stroyed during an eighteen days' 
bombardment in 1864, remained a 
perfect wreck of Carmontaine's 
and Nauban's art for the twenty 
year's preceding the Spanish- 
American war. Only a solitary 
ordnance sergeant during that 
time paced its desolate cur- 
tains, bastions, redans and lu- 
nettes, heavily furrowed by shot 
and shell. 

When the bugle of alarm 
sounded over its obsolete para- 
pets, these were diligently con- 
verted by hundreds of skilled arti- 
sans, under the intelligent direc- 
tion of superior minds, into 
impregnable walls of huge dimen- 
sions, and quickly armed with 
most formidable weapons. And 
to-day, we behold in Fort Morgan 
the highest type of what modern 
armament can accomplish as a de- 
fensive work. There is military 
activity everywhere, and the con- 
stant roar of the distant surf has 
given way to the deafening and 
prolonged reports of the 12-inch 
guns served with extraordinary 
precision by artillery men eager 
to surpass the gunners of Dewey 
and Schley. 

While standing, shortly before 
my departure that eveniug, upon 
one of the massive wharves lead- 
ing to the covered way and the 
spacious barracks, I contemplated 
the superb panorama unfolded be- 
fore my enchanted gaze. The rich 
tones of one of our semi-tropical 
sunsets flooded with its vivid 
hues the whole landscape, tinted 



blood-red the salients and other 
projections, and fringed with 
crimson the horizon bounded by 
the placid Gulf of Mexico. In the 
midst of such a sublime scene, the 
thought arose unbidden to my 
mind : how heartless, how un- 

grateful, how unworthy of love 
men are, in their ferocious ef- 
forts to destroy their fellow-be- 
ings on a spot so grand, made so 
beautiful by a God of mercy and 
goodness ! 

Jean A. Boudotjsqtjie, '03. 


(C TT LL hands to the anchor!" 
^J- pipes the boatswain, and 
with a "heave-ho ! w right merrily 
is it shipped. Far adown the 
water's edge, from every pier, the 
gallant ship is bid a hearty God- 
speed. Belfries are pealing out 
their joyous peals; bannerets and 
flaunting streamers, from every 
house-top, waft her a proud fare- 
well. Full many an eye is wet 
with tears of joy, and many a 
heart jubilant to see the noble 
craft breasting the billowy deep. 
God-speed thee, precious bark, 
fraught with rich and brilliant 
hopes, and the fond yearnings of 
a people whose bravest sons tread 
thy deck ! 

Across the bounding main — 
decked out in all her canvas, every 
sail swelled — gayly careers the 
gallant ship. Her quavering mast 
glistens in the sunlight ; her cord- 
age writheB and crackles under 
the mighty strain. With clear 
route and chart, — past buoy, 
pharos and deceitful shoal, on, on 
she flies, while merrily sings the 
sailor-lad as he climbs the shrouds 
to catch a last look at home and 
fatherland. Out, straight out into 

the ocean's blue she sails, — part- 
ing, with her graceful prow, 
"Neptune's hoary locks." On she 
holds, fearless of danger, strong in 
hope, sanguine in expectation ; 
for, emblazoned on her fluttering 
pennant, is the magic name — Suc- 

# # # # # 

Slowly, sadly a craft is plowing 
the placid waters of the harbor. 
Despite the stiff breeze, her prog- 
ress is laggard, and the waters 
eddy idly in her wake. How 
cadaverous her crew ! Are they 
Mors and his ghostly train parad- 
ing a funeral bark, — a phantom 
ship, such as might properly haunt 
the Dead Sea 1 Whence this 
strange craft? 

Her sails are in shreds, and 
dangle wearily from the yards. 
Her main-mast is shattered, her 
timbers shivered. Her deck is 
strewn with debris; and not a 
hand to clear it away. 

Over the wavelets, kissed by 
the golden dawn until burnished, 
dances the fresh morning breeze. 
Murky and ominous, over the hori- 
zon, climb the thunder-charged 
clouds. Like sentinels they stand, 



guarding the peace of the deep. 
Stiffer and stronger grows the 
breath of the morning ; and yet 
the sad, silent ship drags its 
weary, sepulchral bulk over the 
rolling waves. 

No waving signals, no friendly 
salute, no tender welcome to the 
returning craft! Death-like silence 
reigns along the water's edge; 
and a people, in their woe, mourn 
the hope of the future in the tombs 
of the past. 

Wind and wave have dealt 
cruelly with the gallant ship that 

erst from her gilded masthead, 
flaunted her proud pennant — Suc- 

She makes fast to a deserted 
dock, — listing wearily, like an old 
man spent with the journey of 
life, and sinking into his grave. 

Impotent are words to describe 
what looks and sighs do tell! 
Shame and sorrow is written in the 
countenances of the crew; for time, 
and the storm — the Almighty — 
has traced on the shattered helm 
the fatal name — Failure. 

Owen E. McDonnell, '02. 


IT was Christmas eve. Dull 
grey clouds hung heavily under 
a sombre sky. "It will surely 
snow to-day ; how delightful 
Christmas will be with the snow !" 
said I, as I thought of the happi- 
ness the morrow would bring. 

And so it was, for very soon 
downy snow-flakes flecked my 
window with their stars and va- 
ried shapes of crystal beauty, — 
and all the air alike was filled 
with winged spotless little fur bits. 
How could I then repress 


Lily-white floating flakes, 

Whither do you come ? 
Whose the hands that scatter you 

From your starry home ? 

Why in myriad numbers 

Fall you from the sky, 
Clothing hill and valley land 

All so spotlessly ? 

Straightway, as from Heaven 

gently whispered, sweetly, softly 



Angel hands in Paradise 

Gather petals fair ; 
Joyfully they sprinkle them 

Through the wintry air. 

'Tis for Him who lieth 

In yon stable bare, 
Born of Virgin-Mother mild, 

Purest, Fairest Fair. 

That so hill and valley land 
Comeliest garb may wear, 

Welcoming the Babe Divine, 
Jesus, sleeping there! 



THE burning of Old Spring Hill, 
four years after the War, was 
looked upon as a national calam- 
ity — a heavy blow to the South- 
land just then retrieving its lost 
fortunes. The necessity of having 
well-educated men in the commu- 
nity had brought to Spring Hill 
about two hundred young South- 
erners at the opening of the ses- 
sion of '68-'69. 

Classes began on October 27th. 
The course of studies was then 
what it is to-day — as thorough and 
as complete ; and the standard 
attained was, we are told b> one 
of the Professors at the time, 
"very high." "They were all 
brave fellows," he says, "eager for 
work." College events succeeded 
each other rapidly. Christmas 
and New Year's holidays were 
welcome breaks in the monotony 
of class-work, and at the word 
"study", each boy took up his 
books with new and increased 

What a tribute to Old Spring 
Hill is this characteristic of her 
sons in the heyday of her glory, 
and alas ! in the final hour, too, of 
her most useful existence ! She 
has done her work; who will deny 
that she has done it well? Her 
last hour is fast drawing near. 
The fire-fiend is ready to hurl his 
flaming torch ; but he is unheeded, 

"College will not burn to-night," 
was the reflection dear old Fr. 

Yenni tells us he made when re- 
tiring to rest he observed that 
his loved Cremona was not in its 
accustomed place, in his room. 

"The wisest plans of mice and men 
Gang oft aglee." 

In the year 1869 the 4th of Feb- 
ruary fell on Thursday, and Thurs- 
day brought, we presume, its usual 
round of play for these old Spring 
Hillians. The evening passed as 
many another Thursday evening : 
study, supper, prayers and bed. 
The clock strikes ten. All is 

Above, the sky is cloudless, and 
the stars shine out with that spark- 
ling brilliancy so characteristic of 
a frosty night. Within the Col- 
lege everything is still and silent 
as the grave. A faint glimmer of 
light may be seen along the dor- 
mitory windows on the fourth 
floor , and the hallowed glow of 
the sanctuary lamp flickers softly 
on the chapel window in the sec- 
ond story. Not a sound is audible 
without, save the low mumblings 
of the chilling Norther, and within 
the heavy breathing of some tired 

Sleep on, ye brave fellows, and 
take your rest. There is in the 
Infirmary one unlucky fellow 
nursing a fractured limb. Even 
he gets a respite from his dis- 
tressing pain ; his eyes are closed, 
but he is not asleep. He shall not 
sleep to-night. 



Another long, weary hour, and 
it is eleven. Now the fire-fiend 
is at his ruthless task and the 
strong breeze helps him. 

Soon the young sufferer is aware 
of excessive light filling his room. 
Lurid shadows dance giddily on 
his bed-room wall. He is awe- 
struck. Painfully he drags him- 
self to the window ; and that 
ominous word which makes the 
stoutest heart tremble with fear 
breaks the awful silence. "Fire ! 
Fire ! " he yells like one beside 
himself. The Infirmarian is out 
in a twinkling. He also knows 
nothing but those dread words. 
Fortunately he has the presence 
of mind to ring the College bell. 
As soon as the alarm is given, 
frantic shouts of "Fire V are heard 
above the stroke of the bell 
throughout the dormitories and 
private rooms. 

As no one knew its extent and 
only very few that it was the Col- 
lege itself that was ablaze, each 
one took the shortest way to 
safety. Some who ran along the 
galleries on the south side of the 
building saw dense clouds of 
flame and smoke piled high in air 
and raining a constant shower of 
sparks, while those who sped to 
the north side thought that every 
building there was burning. 

Though it was impossible that a 
person be cut off from some means 
of escape, still among a crowd of 
helpless boys and at the midnight 
hour, what some one or other will 
not do under the circumstances, it 
is difficult to conjecture. Around 
them surely all anxiety was cen- 

tered. Each one was the]~object 
of personal attention, and never a 
boy needed attention as on that 
memorable night. What took 
place when the alarm was given 
in a room where fifty large boys, 
or even fifty little fellows were 
sleeping soundly, cannot or rather 
need not be described. Even the 
very thought causes a shiver to 
run through our nerves. Some 
faced the cold air with a minimum 
of covering. Many grabbed their 
clothes and dressed themselves on 
the run for life, while not a few, 
completely bewildered, threw 
blankets over their shoulders. 

In less than a minute after the 
word is spread around, old Spring 
Hill has not a soul within her 
walls. Again and again the dor- 
mitories have been carefully 
searched to be absolutely certain 
that no sleeper has been over- 
looked, for it is next to impossible 
to count the boys outside. 

The old halls are deserted, com- 
pletely deserted. Whatever is 
valuable and rare is still within. 
Not an article of furniture has 
been moved from its accustomed 
place. The Library with its trea- 
sures, and the Museum, the most 
complete in the South, await pa- 
tiently the destructive flame. 
Mutely every picture and paint- 
ing — and there were some very 
valuable ones — in class room and 
study hall and dormitory is wait- 
ing to mingle its ashes with the 
ruins of old Spring Hill. 

Each boy, too, is forced to make 
his sacrifice. For some it is a 
keepsake, a parting gift from a 



dear soldier father or loving 
mother; for others it is something 
which flatters their boyish pride, 
and though they are restrained 
from risking their lives to rescue 
them, there is no word of com- 

"They could not realize," an eye- 
witness tells us, "what was taking 
place before their wondering 
gaze. No one could. The boys 
weie most sympathetic. Their 
admirable behavior was much ap- 
preciated by the Fathers whose 
College home was hopelessly 
gone, within the short space of a 
few hours. And there was no 
available means of sheltering over 
200 shivering boys." 

They were lined up on the north 
side of the building, driven as 
near the blaze by the north wind 
as prudence would permit. And 
what did they see? A home, sec- 
ond only in their hearts' love to 
the parental hearth — their home 
ablaze from basement to roof. 

The entire building is still in- 
tact ; the outer walls are unshak- 
en, but the roof shelters a roaring 
storm of fire. Some partition 
walls are evidently burned and 
fallen, for the blaze raves furious- 
ly, lashed to madness by the 
strong constant breeze. The soft 
glow of the sanctuary lamp is gone 
forever, the domestic chapel is no 

more, and nothing is saved. Wist- 
fully the boys look up at those 
deserted rooms, but they have no 
thought of sleep. It is deafening 
to listen to the crackling of 
the slates when the wood-lining 
to which they are fastened takes 
fire. Shortly the roof trembles 
and a column of sparks shoot high 
into the air, large tongues of flame 
issue in several places. Above 
the angry storm-roar a loud, dull 
report is heard ; another and then 
another! The girders and bind- 
ers that stretch from wall to wall 
across the college break, and tear 
with them huge masses of ma- 
sonry and roofing in their fall. 
This is the first tremendous crash; 
and it is scarcely midnight yet. 
It made an ugly gap almost midway 
in the building — a yawning mouth 
of fire which opened its jaws wider 
and wider. At about 3 o'clock 
a look at the accompanying en- 
gravings show what was left of 
Old Spring Hill, after its awful 
baptism of fire. 

For a few days the smoke of the 
dying embers hovered like in- 
cense over the smouldering pile. 

By the following November a 
new and greater Spring Hill had, 
phoenix-like, arisen from the ashes 
of the old. 

George S. McOarty, '01. 












THE Roman camp lay intrenched 
in a defile of the Moravian 
mountains : it proved a trap to 
which even the Carthaginian could 
be lured when marching through 
hostile territory. Some weeks 
had already elapsed since the 
error had been committed, and 
swarms of Quadi and Marcomans 
were besieging Marcus Aurelius. 

The Romans were busy strength- 
ening their position and preparing 
for the expected attack; still the 
besiegers waited, for they were 
not anxious to harass a proud, 
desperate and world-famed foe> 
whose keen-edged steel they had 
so often tasted. They would bide 
their time till the day when the 
Quirites would be dying of thirst: 
it had not rained since the open- 
ing of the siege, and all water sup- 
plies had been cut off from the 
camp. The only stream within 
their reach had become shallow, 
stagnant, corrupted and finally 
dry ; its bed had been turned into 
a hard surface, indented with 
large crevices. The foliage round 
about had changed from red to 
russet, and from russet to brown. 
By day the sky above resembled 
a metallic plate heated to incan- 
descence; in the evening its white- 
ness cooled to crimson, and at 
night a hot vapor hung over the 

Such was the state of affairs 
when the Imperial Philosopher, 
turning to the commander of the 

Twelfth Legion, asked: "Why 
cannot thou and thine, who are 
Christians, save us from these 
straits % In vain have bullocks 
bled on the shrines of Jupiter 
Tonans and the deities of Rome, 
in vain have our magi sought 
omens and probed the silent en- 
trails. Unless the Christians, to 
whom signs and wonders are often 
attributed, save us, in three days 
not so much as one man will be 
able to lift a pike." 

"August Imperator," replied the 
officer, "we shall raise up our 
hearts to the Lord of Hosts, and 
He shall deliver us from the hands 
of the enemy. He has permitted 
this extremity that deliverance 
may be the more striking." 

Word was passed round, and 
the whole Legion knelt in humble 
prayer, while the entire camp — sol- 
diers, officers, the Emperor him- 
self—all who, on other occasions, 
would have yelled : "The Chris- 
tians to the lions!" united them- 
selves in spirit to the supplica- 

It was not long before one small 
cloud, and then another, crept 
over the mountain tops, and soon 
the whole sky became overcast. 
A cool breeze was wafted down 
the valley ; the low rumbling of 
thunder was heard ; then the trees 
exposed to the wind bent east- 
ward, and, veil-like, the rain was 
seen approaching. A few large 
drops flattened themselves against 



the ground ; a mighty flash of 
light immediately lit up the dark- 
ening scene, followed by an earth- 
rending crash, and a dense rain, 
driven with violence, falling with 
a deafening swash, and soon 
swirling about in the parched 

All was now disorder in the 
camp : fevered men lying on their 
backs to swallow mouthfuls of 
rain, others running to and fro to 
gather the precious drops in hel- 
mets, bucklers, casks and the folds 
of tents; and horses, unspirited 
by the drought, now sniffing, paw- 
ing the ground and trying to lap 
up a few drops of water in the 
smallest fissures of the earth. 

The Quadi, seeing their only 
chance of reducing the Romans 
frustrated, determined to profit by 
the present disorder, and under 
cover of the dense rain made good 
their attack ; so much so that their 
advance guard fell upon the 
Roman sentries without being per- 
ceived. A hard fight ensued be- 
tween both parties, some of whom 
combated and drank at the same 
time, so frantic and parched by 
thirst were these unfortunates. 
Soon, however, auxiliary Roman 
troops arrived and put an end to 
the skirmishing. 

At that very moment the heavy 
rain ceased and a spectacle ap- 
peared which chilled the hearts 
of the bravest. Half way down 
the mountain slope, was a charge 
of cavalry, thousands gathering 
from all directions, to form them- 
selves into a blunted wedge and 
break ithrough the Roman camp 

at the very onset. To oppose 
them the Romans had only a triple 
line of infantry. On they came — 
the nearer the faster. A few hun- 
dred feet separated the two forces, 
when, all of a sudden, a streak of 
fire flashed across the cavalry's 
front, right in the very eyes of the 
men and the ground seemed to 
totter in front of them. A score 
of the leaders were toppled from 
their saddles ; their followers were 
dazzled; and so frightened were 
the coursers that they were thrown 
on their haunches and went sliding 
down the declivity. 

Another instantaneous flash! — 
and, as the barbarians were blink- 
ing under their shields, they heard 
a crackling upon them, which at 
first they took for Roman mis- 
siles; but a moment later they 
found themselves in the midst of 
a terrific hail-storm, with the 
stones, some as large as a man's 
fist, driven by a violent wind al- 
most horizontally against them. 
Their steeds, smarting from the 
cuts made by the hail, attempted 
to veer around. But the second 
line of cavalry was upon them ; 
then the third and fourth, till the 
whole Quadi cavalry became a 
scene of death-dealing confusion. 
In wonder did the Romans await 
the delaying charge : the hostile 
columns had been suddenly wrapt 
out of sight by a tempest, while 
only a thin refreshing shower was 
falling upon their own camp : the 
line of demarcation was quite 

At this juncture, however, the 
Roman scouts announced that a 



body of foot was approaching 
from the rear of the camp. The 
Marcomans had descended un- 
noticed along perilous causeways, 
hoping to second the charge of 
Quadi cavalry. The Koman horse 
was immediately ordered out to 
keep them in check. When in 
sight of the enemy they beheld 
them already in battle array, pre- 
senting a sort of Macedonian pha- 
lanx. But the Romans were not 
idle ; without any battle-cry, they 
set spurs to their chargers and 
burst through the enemy's ranks, 
their scabbards and trappings 
keeping time with the beating of 
three thousand hoofs and the rat- 
tling of the hail-storm. Standing 
high in their stirrups they trampled 
down their opponents, thrusting 
and slashing without opposition. 
The battle had now come to a 
close. The besieging army had 
been thrown into disorder. See- 
ing themselves the objects of ven- 
geance of some angry deity, the 

survivors were fleeing in all direc- 
tions ; some clambering up the 
heights lost their footing on the 
dank rocks, others made good 
their escape, whilst a few, noticing 
that the Roman camp had suffered 
no injury from the storm, fled 
thither and yielded themselves up 
as prisoners. 

That evening Aurelius emerged 
from the defile at the head of his 
cohorts, and there was not so 
much as one timid swain to spy 
his movements. Above, the vic- 
torious clouds had been swept 
away and were gathering around 
the setting sun in shining crimson 
tiers. Amidst the blaze of the 
conquering centurions, Aurelius 
was again proclaimed "Impera- 
tor," and the Twelfth Legion of 
Armenian Christians, who, by 
their prayers, had saved the day, 
was honored with the title of the 
" Thundering Legion." 

Robert A. Flatjtt, '03. 


BUILT on the opposite sides of 
two unequal hills, Jerusalem 
of old lay securely ensconced in 
the valley formed by them, as be- 
tween two impregnable torts. On 
one side rose Acra, the most popu- 
lous part of the city; on the other 
was Sion, the country of the 
prophets. In the centre of these 
natural defences, stood Mount 
Moriah, crowned with that master- 
piece of oriental art, the Temple, 

admired and venerated by foreign 
kings, and before whose God bar- 
barian victors disdained not to 
bend the knee. 

The city was protected on the 
south and east by a triple wall, 
studded with one hundred and 
forty-nine towers ; but as a deep 
valley skirted it, north and south, 
one wall was sufficient on these 
sides as a protection against at- 
tacks from without. 



To-day Jerusalem is much 
changed. In a barren plain, where 
one sees the oft dried-up bed of a 
torrent, surrounded by rugged 
hills, arises, in the shape of a 
Turkish city, not the Jerusalem of 
ancient times, but the Oelia Oapi- 
tolina, built by Adrian on the very 
spot where Jerusalem stood. Bo- 
mans, Greeks, Persians, Saracens, 
Turks and Crusaders have all left 
behind them traces of desolation 
and death. To the traveller who 
contemplates its white walls the 
city appears as it were wrapped 
in a winding sheet, and seems to 
be now but the sepulchre of the 
city whose name it bears. The 
breath of an angry God has passed 
over it. 

Successively the scene of bless- 
ings and of miracles, Jerusalem 
had for its first ruler a mysterious 
pontiff, Melchisedec, who gave it 
its name of "City of God." Here 
he offered his sacrifice of bread 
and wine, typical of the one that 
was to purify the world. Fallen 
later into the hands of the idola- 
trous Jebusites, Sion was again 
reconquered by David, who made 
it the capital of his kingdom. 

It now became prosperous, and 
very famous, — more glorious even 
than Thebes, Ninive, Babylon and 
Tyre, the Queen of the seas. Hav- 

ing withstood the schism of the 
ten tribes, the rivalry of Samaria, 
the infidelity of its own kings, the 
repeated attacks of the Egyptians, 
it at last fell into the hands of 
Nabuchadonosor, and lost for 
seventy years its temple, its kings, 
its people, — keeping naught else 
but its glorious recollections and 
its eternal promises. 

At a word from Cyrus, it rose 
anew and enjoyed a few hopeful 
days under its great Asiatic mon- 
archs, soon, however, to shed 
again bitter tears under the per- 
verse Seleucidse. And but for the 
venerable Eleazar, and the mother 
of the Maccabees, — but for the 
heroism of Mattathias and of his 
children, it would have then be- 
wailed an expiring nationality, a 
vanishing religion, and a forgotten 

The Eomans under Pompey 
came, and she lost her independ- 
ence. Now whilst a foreign king, 
together with a Koman governor, 
ruled over Judea, the times marked 
by Heaven were accomplished. 
The Messiah was born unknown 
in the fields in which David, His 
ancestor, tended his flocks, and 
died on the hill where Melchise- 
dec had offered his peace obla- 

E. Herbert Smith, 01. 


IN Mexico, as in most of the 
Spanish - speaking countries 
bull -fights are the national 
sport, and I might remark at 
the outset that though the sport 
may have cruel features for those 
who have never witnessed it, or 
for such as witness it for the first 
time, it is not so regarded by 
those who are accustomed to it. 

Just before the fight, the band 
plays a stirring air, and as soon as 
the music is over, the judge of 
sports orders the bugler seated be- 
side him, to give the signal for 
the "toreros," or bull-fighters, to 
come out from their quarters. 
Immediately they enter, marching 
two by two, the "matadores," or 
captains, at the head, then the 
"banderilleros," or the men who 
thrust the "banderillas" into the 
bull's neck; next come the "pica- 
dores," or the men on horse-back, 
and, lastly, what we might call 
the scavengers, that is, the men 
who clear the ring when a bull or 
horse has been killed. 

The double file stops before the 
judge and salutes him and also 
the people, who, on hearing the 
bugle sound to begin, have raised 
a cheering shout. After they have 
saluted all the participants, they 
take off a cloak, which they are 
wearing, and throw it to one of 
their friends among the specta- 
tors, that he may keep it during 
the fight; this is considered a 
great honor by him who receives 
the cloak. 

Now the order is given to open 
the door of a small cell where the 
bull is kept for some minutes be- 
fore the fight. This cell is barely 
large enough for the animal to 
move in, and quite dark, so that 
when he comes forth he is stupe- 
fied and dazed at the unusual 
sight of so many people; — for not 
only do they capture the wildest 
of these animals for this sport, but 
they do not allow them the sight 
of a man in their captivity, until 
they meet their adversary in the 

For a moment the bull stands 
still in the middle of the ring, but 
on seeing the man on horseback, 
charges with all his might. The 
rider carries a sort of long lance, 
called "pica," which he uses to 
protect himself and the horse, but 
generally with poor success. It 
is not unusual to see the rider 
rudely dismounted and the horse 
gored to death. This killing of 
horses is undoubtedly the most 
cruel feature of a bull-fight; and it 
sometimes happens that as many 
as a dozen of them are thus dis- 
patched in one fight. It is need- 
less to say that it is not the best 
stock which is nsed for the pur- 
pose, but only poor, half-fed ani- 
mals, which, if they could show 
any preference, would doubtless 
choose even so hard an ending 
rather than continue a yet harder 

The men on foot have a large 
cloak, with which they protect 



themselves by deceiving the bull, 
for the animal, attracted and en- 
raged by the flaunting cloak of 
bright color, charges for the man. 
The latter simply steps aside, 
leaving the cloak to blindfold the 
animal till he can turn and pre- 
pare for another charge. In this 
manner the bull is teased and fren- 
zied for a short time ; then the 
judge calls for the "banderillas," 
which are sticks about two feet 
long with sharp hooks at one end. 

The "banderillero" takes one of 
these in each hand, and, coming to 
within ten feet of the bull, keeps 
a close watch on the animal's 
eyes, so that he can tell when to 
prepare for the assault, since the 
bull shuts his eyes when he 
charges. Just as the bull lowers 
his head to toss his adversary, the 
man adroitly steps aside and 
drives the sharp point into the 
animal's neck ; and before the 
beast can rally for another charge, 
a second bull-fighter engages his 
attention with flaunting cloak, 
while his colleague prepares an- 
other "banderilla." 

When three pairs of "banderil- 
las" have been driven in, the judge 
commands the "matador" or cap- 
tain to kill the bull. The "mata- 
dor" makes a short address to the 
spectators, and then steps out into 
the arena to accomplish his task, 
which is usually the most difficult 
and dangerous part of the game. 

With a sword, about two and 
one-half feet long, in his right 
hand, and in his left a red coat 
stretched upon a stick, he draws 
the animal's attention and watches 

his movements until he gets a 
chance for a fatal thrust of his 
sword through the bull's neck. 
But seldom does it happen that 
the animal falls at the first thrust; 
for the same difficult feat may 
have to be repeated two, three and 
four times; and then the "mata- 
dor" must pull out his blade, 
which is usually forced down to 
to the very hilt and left after each 
thrust in the animal's neck. 
When the animal falls, he is dis- 
patched at once by the "matador" 
who, with a small dagger or with 
his sword, cuts a vital vein be- 
tween the horns. 

As soon as the bull has been 
killed, the workmen come in with 
their teams and take away the car- 
cass, or carcasses, for, as before 
mentioned, several horses usually 
fall in the fray; and as many as 
four and five bulls are suc- 
cessively brought out and dis- 
patched in the same way. 

If the "matador" has killed the 
bull quickly and well the specta- 
tors will express their satisfaction 
by throwing him presents. But 
if the fight is a poor one, as will 
happen when the bull refuses to 
show fight, the spectators in their 
disappointment may become so 
unruly that even a strong police 
force will hardly succeed in main- 
taining order. For this reason 
there is usually a heavy penalty 
imposed by the government upon 
all concerned for every bull-fight 
that proves a failure; and as a 
consequence, such a thing is of 
rare occurrence. 

Joseph A. Schnaider, '04. 


ALL great things have small 
beginnings. The mighty 
storm-cloud is formed from tiny- 
ocean drops; the giant oak springs 
from the petty acorn. So it was 
with the S. H. 0. Junior Brass 

A few words about its organi- 
zation may not prove uninterest- 

It was in 1886, during the Christ- 
mas holidays, when boys feel hap- 
py and musically inclined, that 
Bene Grunewald received a num- 
ber of Tcazoos from home, and dis- 
tributed them among his musical 
friends. Father Porta, S. J., with 
an eye to their enjoyment, organ- 
ized a Kazoo Band. A few har- 
monicas swelled the soulful 
chorus, and enthusiasm rose to its 
highest pitch. After several har- 
monious rehearsals, the Junior 
(Kazoo) Band made their first pub- 
lic appearance, and obtained a half- 
day's recreation as a reward for 
their virgin effort. 

This glorious beginning stirred 
up the ambition of the youthful 
artists, and, after a most enthusi- 
astic mass meeting, it was decided 
that a gennine Junior Brass Band 
should be put on foot. Collections 
were taken up, and soon enough 
money was secured to purchuse 
instruments. Of course the "big 
boys" thought this a huge joke, 
and were unusually generous in 

forwarding contributions. Some 
gave cancelled stamps, others sax- 
ophone parts, and others again 
buttons, tin whistles and jews' 
harps. Even Professor Staub sent 
in a munificent donation! 

But "he laughs best who laughs 
last." The jibes of the Senior 
Division proved the greatest help 
towards the success of the Junior 
Band. Every active member 
pledged himself to spend all his re- 
creation in tooting, and they made 
such rapid progress that they 
were able to play, very creditably 
indeed, the overture to William 
Tell, at the Commencement Exer- 

To hand down to posterity the 
memory of this phenomenal suc- 
cess, I have exhumed from among 
the oldest documents of our or- 
ganization the names of its pio- 
neer members. Leader and Bari- 
tone, Bev. A. C. Porta, S. J.; Cor- 
nets, Jno. P. Mulherin, G. Camors, 
Joseph Onorato ; Altos, P. Ca- 
mors, Alex. Grouchy, C. O'Con- 
nor; Tenors, Jno. D'Aquin, M. 
Souchon; Bass, Alex. Ledoux; 
Bass Drum, Frank Brenner; Snare 
Drum, S. Moreno ; Cymbals, W. 
Mulherin; Triangle, C. Kupfrian. 

Quite a respectable array of mu- 
sical talent! The present Junior 
Band artists are proud of their 

Edward B. Dreapbr, '02. 


George Henry Theard, the 
recipient of the first gold medal 
ever donated by Spring Hill for 
superior merit in examination for 
the degree of Bachelor of Arts, 
was born in the Orescent City on 
the 17th of May, 1857. He gradu- 
ated with the highest honors of 
his class in August, 1873. In re- 
cognition of his brilliant talents 
and thorough knowledge he was 
offered at the close of his college 
career, a professorship in his 
Alma Mater, but declined in order 
to take up the study of law. 
Three years later he received the 
honorary degree of Master of 
Arts. Judge Theard began to 
read law in the office of his father, 
Judge Paul E. Theard. Later he 
graduated from the University of 
Louisiana, now the Tulane Uni- 
versity, on the 3d of May, 1878, a 
few days before he reached the 
age of majority. In the meantime 
he was also receiving valuable 
practical training as a clerk of 
court. He acted in that capacity 
from 1874 to 1883, in which year 
he entered upon the active prac- 
tice of law as a member of the 
firm of P. E. Theard & Sons. His 
success at the bar was rapid, and 
he is regarded to-day not only as 
an accomplished scholar, but as a 
lawyer of great ability and of the 
soundest judgment. In 1892 he 
was appointed to succeed Hon. 
Albert Voorhies as Judge of Di- 
vision E of the Civil District 

Court of New Orleans. Judge 
Theard took part in the popular 
movements of 1874 and 1877, 
which put an end to carpet-bag- 
ism, and inaugurated a Democratic 
administration in Louisiana under 
Governor Francis T. Nicholls. 
During the last two political cam- 
paigns, as a supporter of Gover- 
nor Nicholls and Governor Foster, 
he became prominent throughout 
the whole state as a public 
speaker, gaining a most enviable 
reputation as an orator. His ser- 
vices, particularly in the last 
struggle, were constant, brilliant, 
and most effective. He has never 
filled any public office. In 1888, 
however, he was chosen one of the 
presidential electors who cast the 
vote of Louisianafor Grover Cleve- 
land. Judge Theard is socially 
one of the most popular gentle- 
men in New Orleans. For years 
he has been prominent in the mys- 
tic organizations, which contribu- 
ted so much to the success of the 
carnival festivities. He is first 
Vice-President of the Jesuit 
Alumni Association of the city. 
He has travelled extensively in 
Europe, visiting all the great cen- 
tres of the old world, and acquired 
a polish and knowledge to be ob- 
tained only by touring abroad. 
Charles Joseph Theard, the 
brother of the Judge, is likewise 
a native of New Orlans, where he 
was born on the 28th of February, 
1860. While quite young he en- 



tered the College of the Immacu- 
late Conception, following the 
classical course until he com- 
pleted Ehetoric. He then came 
to Spring Hill, where he reviewed 
Rhetoric and studied Philosophy. 
In July, 1876, he received the de- 
gree of Bachelor of Arts, and re- 
turned two years later for that of 
Master of Arts. On this occasion, 
though only eighteen years of age, 
Mr. Theard delivered an eloquent 
address on Admiral Raphael 
Semmes. After studying law, 
first under his father, the Hon. 
Paul E. Theard, and afterwards at 
Tulane University, where he was 
the valedictorian of his class, he 
was admitted to the Bar in May, 
' 1881. From that time, he has fol- 
lowed his profession with honor 
and distinction, enjoying the repu- 
tation of being one of the most 
learned, upright and conscientious 
members of the legal profession in 
New Orleans. Up to August, 
1892, he had two partners, his 
father, who died at that time, and 
his brother, the Hon. Geo. H. The- 
ard, who became Judge of the 
Civil District Court about the 
same time. Now Mr. Theard is 
alone in his law practice, to which 
he devotes his time and labor ex- 
clusively. He stands high among 
the social and professional circles 
of his native city. He took a 
prominent part in the Anti-Lot- 
tery agitation of a few years ago. 
We had intended to print an ora- 
tion delivered by Mr. Theard in 
June, 1897, at the Annual Com- 
mencement of the Jesuits College, 
in New Orleans, but time and 

space will not permit its publica- 
tion. It is a glowing and eloquent 
tribute to the learning and virtue 
of his former masters and their 

Prom the Donaldsonville Daily 
Times we clip the following about 
two Spring Hillians who have 
passed away within the last 
twelvemonth : 

Hon. R. N. Sims, Louisiana 
State Senator, died at his home in 
Donaldsonville on the 27th of 
May. He was born in Ascension 
parish a little more than 58 years 
ago. His early education was at- 
tained at Spring Hill College and 
was finished in the famous Chapel 
Hill University, North Carolina. 
Adopting the law as a vocation, 
he rose to the front rank, a con- 
scientious discharge of duty being 
the guiding star of his every ac- 
tion. When the fateful call for 
troops to defend the Confederate 
cause was made in 1861, he was 
among the first to offer his ser 
vices, leaving Thibodaux with the 
Graviot Guards a few days after 
Fort Sumpter fell. Coming out of 
the war as adjutant general, Mr. 
Sims resumed the study of law 
and was admitted to practice in 
1866. Forging to the front with a 
speed which few attain, he soon 
became the advisor of a large 
clientele, and he retained their 
confidence to the end. Senator 
Sims was a leading figure in the 
political and domestic life of As- 
cension parish. He had often 
been importuned to take office at 
the hands of the Democratic party, 
but had steadfastly refused until 



1896, when the peculiar condi- 
tions then prevailing seemed to 
demand his candidacy and he be- 
came a candidate for the State 
Senatorship of this district. His 
triumphant election followed as a 
matter of course, and his service 
in the higher branch of the Gen- 
eral Assembly was a distinguished 
one. Here as elsewhere, there 
was no cloud upon his fair fame, 
and he served his people with the 
same disinterested earnestness 
which characterized his private 
relations. He was known in this 
section as the "Democratic War 

Towards the middle of May, 
Mr. Joseph Celestin Braud, 
one of the oldest and most promi- 
nent citizens of Donaldsonville, 
La., passed away after several 
weeks of painful illness. He was 
a native of Ascension parish, hav- 

ing been born in the same local- 
ity where he died and resided there 
all his life with the exception of a 
few short intervals. His age was 
60 years, 4 months and 14 days. 
His education was mainly pro- 
cured at Spring Hill College, near 
Mobile, at which institution he 
spent some years. For a number 
of years he successfully conducted 
the plantation of his father, Simon 
Braud. and subsequently leased 
and cultivated the Forest Home 
plantation, in Iberville parish. 
He was a shrewd speculator and 
investor, but withal kind-hearted 
and generous to his family and 
friends, and many are the acts of 
generosity and kindness he per- 
formed for the latter in times of 
need. Mr. Braud's son, Forest, 
graduated last June at Spring 
Hill with the highest honors of 
his class. 


A sunny bird in a gilded cage 

Sings sweetly in my cosey room : 

Without the scene is as dank and dark 
And still as if within the tomb. 

I live away from the Sunny South, 

And find a dirge in birdie's songs ; 

He hops about in that gilded cage ; — 
To fly back home, like me, he longs ! 

Henry A. Esnard, '00. 


Some days ago I met a veteran ; 

Blue was his uniform, his years, I ween, 

To three score nigh. We chatted long of war, 

Of battles, deeds heroic, escapades, — 

Some partly true, exaggerated others. 

Now, when I'd asked him what most wondrous things 

He'd seen at Santiago, he replied : 

" I saw the Flag of the Starry Cross and Bars 

In battle borne ; I spied it there unfurled. 

The Poet sang its Requiem : — but yet 

We did unfurl it. There I saw it wave, 

As when I wore the grey at Fredericksburg." 

The man is old and crazed, thought I, he raves. 

We furled that banner long ago— the time 

We lost the Cause. But then my friend went on 

Most confidently : " 'Midst the battle's smoke, 

I spied the Union Flag — the Stars and Stripes, 

And as I charged the hill 'mid shot and shell, 

It seemed to me that five of the crimson stripes 

Did blend and form a bar ; and on the field 

Of scintillating stars, eleven glinted 

Into the Southern Cross. Were not Virginia 

And Georgia, Maryland, the Carolinas 

There represented by their bravest sons ? 

Were not the Stars of Texas, Arkansas, 

Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, 

Of Mississippi and Tennessee, 

As bright in Cuba as at Gettysburg ? 

Did not Joe Wheeler fight beneath two flags ? 

Who was the hero of the Merrimac ? " 

And he was right. The Banner is unfurled. 

It brightly gleams amid the Stars and Stripes, — 

The Banner of the States. So let them wave, 

The two in one, while liberty is ours ! 

LOUISIANA, '8 7 . 



The Spring Hill Review 


The Students of Spring Hill College, 
Mobile, Ala. 


Address all communications to 
Spring Hill College, 

Mobile, Ala. 


P. Antonin Lelong, '00. 

Associate Editors. 

J. M. Burguieres, '00. J. Douglas O'Brien, '00. 

Jack J. McGrath, '02. Maximin D. Touart, 03. 

Athletic Editors. 
Fred Solis, '00. Joseph M. Walsh, '03. 

Business Managers. 
Henry L. Sarpy, '00' Sam Apperious, '00. 

Advertising Managers. 
Tisdale J. Touart, '00. Edw. B. Dreaper, '02. 


The Review wishes its readers 
a Happy,thrice Happy New Year ! 
May 1900 be frought with choic- 
est blessings for one and all ! 
# # * # # 

Encouraged by the nattering 
recognition given us by the press 
and by our numerous friends on 
the occasion of our former issue, 
we make bold to appear once more 
among the aspirants for honor in 
the literary world, and we trust 
we shall meet with as favorable a 
reception as we did last Easter. 
We have spared ourselves no pains 
to bring out a magazine worthy of 
persual, replete with articles of 
general interest on literary, his- 
toric and scientific topics. Upon 
our success or failure in this re- 
gard our kind readers must pro- 
nounce; we on our part, are as- 
sured beforehand of their good 

will and generous indulgence to- 
wards our youthful efforts. 

* # # # # 
We take pleasure in calling at- 
tention to our Alumni column, 
opened for the first time in this 
number. As will be noticed, it is 
a rather meagre account of the do- 
ings of past Spring Hillians, but 
at any rate, it is a start, and will, we 
hope, assume larger proportions 
with the march of coming years. 

* # * # # 
Some of the "Old Boys" are a 

little backward — perhaps bashful 
— in making known their suc- 
cesses and achievements. Step 
to the fore, gentlemen ! The Re- 
view invites your correspon- 
dence. Let your light shine be- 
fore the world and especially be- 
fore your younger College friends, 
who are now treading in your 
footsteps, and who are ambitious 
to shed as much glory on their 
Alma Mater as you have done. 

* # # # # 
It is gratifying to state that 

those of the Alumni to whom 
we have written for information 
about themselves and others were 
generally prompt in forwarding 
the required data. Their willing- 
ness to help on the good cause 
cannot be too highly commended. 
Special thanks are due and are 
hereby extended to Mr. E. H. 
Reynes, Jr., '99, who rendered us 
valuable assistance in ascertaining 
the addresses and whereabouts of 
past students. 

* # # # # 
The next number of the Review 

will appear about May 1, 1900. 


THE The Faculty of Spring 
FACULTY. Hill College for the 
present term is as follows: Rev. 
W. J. Tyrrell, S.J., President; Rev. 
P. O'Leary, S.J., Vice-President; 
Rev. P. J. Murphy, S.J., Secretary; 
Rev. T. W. Butler, S.J., Chaplain; 
Rev. A. J. Hugh, S.J., Treasurer; 
Rev. M. Wolfe, S.J., Librarian; 
Rev. M. Jannin, S.J., Lecturer on 
Christian Doctrine and Professor 
of Mental Philosophy in the 
Classical course; Rev. A. Wagner, 
S.J., Professor of Sciences; Rev. 
T. D. Madden, S.J., Professor of 
Mental Philosophy in the Commer- 
cial course; Rev. M. Kenny, S.J., 
Rhetoric; Rev. L. Paris, S.J., 
Poetry; Mr. C. D. Barland, S.J., 
First Grammar; Mr. E. A. Fields, 
S. J., Second Grammar; Mr, T. 
Bortell, S.J., Third Grammar; Mr. 
M. Cronin, S J., First Commercial; 
Mr. P. Redmond, S.J., Second 
Commercial; Mr. A. C. McLaugh- 
lin, S.J., Third Commercial; Mr. A. 
B. Fox, S.J., Preparatory, Steno- 
graphy and Type-Writing; Mr. E- 
A. Cummings, S.J., Geometry and 
Trigonometry; Mr. K. A. Nowlan, 
S.J., Algebra and Geometry. 

FACULTY Kev. M. Moynihan, 
CHANGES. S.J., who was Presi- 
dent of Spring Hill for the past 
three years, has been appointed 
Rector of the Novitiate at Macon 

Father J- O'Reilly S.J., the late 
Vice-President, is teaching one of 

higher classes at the Jesuit Col- 
lege, New Orleans. 

Father E. C. de la Moriniere, S.J., 
fills the office of Vice-President at 

Father W. Wilkinson, S.J., is for 
the present year at Florissant, near 
St. Louis, Mo. 

Father J. H. Meyer, S.J., is Pro- 
fessor of Higher Mathematics at the 
Scholasticate of Grand Coteau? 

Mr. J.H. Stritch, S.J., is teaching 
Second Grammar Class at the 
Jesuit College in New Orleans. 

Mr. C. Ruhlmann, S.J., is com- 
pleting his course of studies for 
the priesthood at Woodstock, Md. 

Mr. P. Crouin, S.J., occupies the 
Chair of Mathematics at the Jesuit 
College, New Orleans. 

THE The prospects for the 
OPENING, session of 1899-1900 
were most encouraging, and the 
number of scholars bid fair to 
eclipse that of many preceding 
years. Unfortunately, however, 
there was s set-back. Owing to 
the rigid quarantine regulations 
in force, most of the students were 
unable to reach the College for 
September 6th, and on the open- 
ing night only thirty slept in the 
house. More dropped in day after 
day from various points, and some 
made tremendous efforts to break 
through the quarantine barrier. 
But, most of them had to — and 
many were glad to — wait! 


AWAITING It must not be sup- Recitation Casey at the Bat 

COMRADES' p 0sed that during Song _ Summ £ fc£^ Glee Club 

RETURN. these weeks Of wait- Finale Waltz— Down With the Yellow 
ing, the fifty or more arrivals were Flag-Orchestra. 

lazy or idle. On the contrary, WELCOME TO Our recently ap- 
they were hustling all along the OUR NEW pointed Father 

line. Besides being earnestly en- FATHER President, the 

gaged in their scholarly pursuits, — PRESIDENT. Reverend William 

with a Spring Hill student, as is J. Tyrrell, S. J., kept away for 

well known, the first item on the some time by the quarantine, at 

programme is always study — they length arrived October 3rd, after 

by no means neglected their hy- a fortnight's sojourn in Macon, 

gienic and athletic exercises, and Ga. He had previously been sta- 

by constant outdoor amusement, tioued at Tampa, Fla., where he 

kept in the best of health and erected a magnificent granite and 

spirits. marble church, said to be one of 

"On Sunday, the 24th of Septem- the most imposing ecclesiastical 

ber/'-we quote from the Mobile Keg- edifices south of the Potomac. 

ister— there was an informal enter- m , -. , . 

tm-nmnnt ^x^r, k„ *i, xj • * • ■ j The students gave him an enter- 
tainment given by the Histrionic and & 

Musical Troupe of the college. It was tainment the day after his arrival, 

a pleasant, homely stance gotten up in an account of which we subjoin 

anticipation of the return of the absent from the Register : 

students. The speakers, singers and No OQe a8gisti th tion ten . 

instrumental performers acquitted dered ^ Rey> w f niam j T ^ g< j 

themselves with great credit, and were , -, * -i ± n ■ .* , 

_„ + i ■ *• ii , ,,i, could fail to note the spirit of genuine 

enthusiastically applauded by their ap- , u A A * „ u - .- . A 

_„, . ,. j. ** ' * F loyalty and good fellowship manifested 

preciative audience. The evening i \, + , + - a • u-n ri n 

„ oc , c ,^ i u i .. s by the students of Spring Hill College, 

passed by pleasantly and every one en- , i.u * ^ *x. • • ^ I 

^„^ u- ir i .-i ^, both towards their superior and to- 
joyed himself heartily. The orchestra -, ., T * u 

mna , .. „ . * ,. . couid war d s one another. It was a happy 

was under the efficient direction of Pro- . ., tu • • i.- i u 

^ ac ,^„ . T , , . , family gathering in which each one 

lessor A. J. Staub, ab y assisted bv • j -^ , • ■ ^ • 5 • v 

Pr . . a «. , '. / tteo BLCU u y vied with his neighbor in doing honor 

Professor A. Suffich, both of whom exe- + - • n ■ * j -a * 

te „+ A j i ,.- , ' , to their recently appointed president, 

cuted beautiful solos and encores on «„r , ,, *u j- *i u * 

+ , , - . . "Welcome" was the word in the hearts 

the piano and flute respectively. The r n j •* r -^r n u j « 

„„„ -„ r J of all, and it was faithfullv echoed in 

programme was as follows : I , -, r „ A , 

speech and song and music. A hun- 

Schottieche ..... ..Oh I that Quarantine dred thousand welcomes!" As soon as 

O re r\ fl ft t v a 

Declamation ...The Conquered Banner the boys had heard that he wasexpected 

C. A. Lelong. they had set to woik to prepare an en- 

v ocal Quartette Spreading a Rumor tertainment in his honor, and, though 

n A t P ?vu " 8 ' L Kyan ' T ' J ' Touart > thev had but a few days for actual 
D. J. O'Brien. - . .. J . . 

t- ^ .. „. _ , practice, they gave a verv interesting 

Impersonation— Coney Is and Town der , .. lM *-,. *, 

Bay— E. B. Dreaper. and appropriate exhibition. The 

Piano Solo Get Your Certificate speaking, acting and music were of a 

Professor A. J. Staub. high order and elicited rounds of well- 
Flute Solo-Looking Out for the Health merite d applause. 

Man— Professor A. Sufhch. ., « a i- , n M n , 

Dialogue A Diagnosis Messrs. F. Sohs and G. McCarty 

P. A. Lelong, S. Apperious. greeted the new president in Latin and 

Violin Solo— Tarry Not ... S. Apperious English verse respectively. Mr. D. J. 



O'Brien's base solo, ''The Arrow and 
the Song," and Mr. Sam. Apperious' 
character song, "I'se Gwine Back to 
Dixie," were enjoyed by all. Perhaps 
one of the grandest features of the even- 
ing was Mr. P. A. Lelong's masterly 
rendition of that soul-stirring piece, 
"The Heart of the Bruce." The panto- 
mime kept the audience, especially the 
junior portion of it, in a state of con- 
tinual laughter. Professor A. J. Staub 
directed the orchestra with his usual 
skill, and Professor A. Suffich lent a 
willing hand to the musical part of the 


Polka — Hail to Our Chief. Orchestra 

Address — Welcome G. McOarty 

Cornet Solo— Tampa, Farewell. ...F. Solis 

Song The Arrow and the Song 

J. D. O'Brien. 
Latin Poem— Te Salutamus .... F. Solis 
Shadow Pantomime — Scenes in and 

Around Spring Hill. 
Vocal Quartette— Did You Hear the 
News? — S. Apperious, J. Ryan, T.J. 
Touart, D. J. O'Brien. 

Declamation The Heart of the Bruce 

P. A. Delong. 
Character Song — I'se Gwyne Back to 

Dixie— S. Apperious. 
Eeal Pantomime— Hans Sausageheim- 
er's und Solomon Levy's Droubles. 

Song Moonlight on the Lake 

Glee Club. 

Finale Waltz Long May He Rule 

Pantomimi Personae—S. Apperious, G. 
McCarty, H. A. McPhillips, J. Schnai- 
der, T. J. Touart, H. Smith, B. 

STUDENTS' Tuesday, November 
ARRIVAL. 7th, was a day of spe- 
cial joy at Spring Hill. Again we 
have recourse to the Register : 

'•Some forty odd students whom the 
quarantine restrictions had prohibited 
from entering Mobile, had at last ar- 
rived from the Crescent City. They 
were given a rousing welcome in the 
shape of a splendid banquet, which 
they immensely enjoyed. Later in the 
evening they were tendered an enter- 
tainment by the Senior Literary So- 
The orchestra, which is composed of 

the creme de la creme of the college 
musicians, discoursed in its sweetest 
strains a well known "Cake Walk," 
and "Ever Joyful," a delightful waltz, 
and earned the loud applause with 
which they were greeted. 

Among the Thespians, Mr. Fred. 
Solis, as Philippo Geronimo, in the ex- 
travaganza, entitled "That Legacy," 
was a complete success. So well did he 
interpret the Corsican inn-keeper that, 
if he were not personally known by the 
boys they would have surmised that 
he hailed from the land of the Bona- 

Mr. Samuel Apperious, as Jerry 
Ominous, excellently depicted one of 
the rising sons of Uncle Sam, who 
crosses the Atlantic in search of a for- 
tune, and meets with a multitude of 
adventures, in the land of his fathers. 
He and Mr. Solis kept the audience in 
a constant fit of laughter from the 
time the curtain rose until the end of 
the scene. 

Mr. Henry Sarpy, as Bamboogoatee, 
and Mr. P. A. Lelongas Captain Leoni, 
did full justice to their respective parts. 
Their pompous carriage and dignified 
movements were well suited to the 
characters which they represented. 

Mr. D. J. O'Brien and his well-trained 
police were the merry-makers of the 
evening, especially for the juniors. 

Mr. J. H. Ryan, one of the orators, 
declaimed admirably the famous race- 
horse poem, "How Salvator Won." 

The part of the programme that was 
awaited with intense excitement was 
the comedy of Yellow Jack, written for 
the occasion. It is very humorous and 
full of solid wit. It hinges on the dis- 
covery of a lymph for destroying the 
yellow fever germ. The state physi- 
cians of Alabama, Louisiana and Texas 
meet at Spring Hill College, in their 
search for the same, and how they are 
outwitted by the college barber is amus- 
ingly explained in the denouement. Mr. 
Wallace Prejeau, as the college barber, 
could not have made a greater success. 
Although he paced the boards in the 



lowstock of comedy, it can be readily 
inferred from his success that he would 
do honor to the gorgeous buskin of 
tragedy. As connoisseur of microbes 
for Louisiana, Mr. P. A. Lelong was 
excellent. The charming French accent 
and dainty manners of a Parisian doc- 
tor were admirably mimicked. Mr. 
Herbert Smith and Mr. 0. A. Lelong 
fittingly represented the health physi- 
cians of their respective states. Messrs. 
Darragh and Schnaider did the honors 
of the College. The members of the 
Senior Literary Society may congratu- 
late themselves upon their brilliant 

FORMER Among the visi- 

PRESl DENTS, tors to the Col- 
lege during the past few months 
were Fathers Lonergan and Dow- 
ney, both ex-Presidents of Spring 
Hill. The former stopped here on 
his way from Augusta to Galveston 
where he is acting as chapalin of 
the Providence Hospital. He 
was serenaded by the brass bands 
and responded in a neat little 
"half-day" speech. Some one of 
his tricky young friends snapped 
a kodak at him, but for some un- 
known reason, the photo has 
never materialized. Various at- 
tempts have been made to explain 
the cause of the failure. Perhaps 
Mr. John Burke, of Atlanta, Ga., 
could solve the difficulty. 

Father Downey, now stationed 
at the Jesuit College in New Or- 
leans, was also honored with a 
musical reception by the bands 
He spoke interestingly and touch 
ingly to the boys, and wound up 
with that most welcome, most im 
pressive, most soul-stirring of per 
orations — a holiday. 

Other living ex-presidents are 

Father Beaudequin, pastor of St. 
Joseph's Church, Mobile, Ala,,who 
is a frequent guest at the College; 
Father Curioz, an octogenarian, 
still erect and firm of step, who 
hears confessions and performs 
other spiritual ministrations in 
New Orleans; Father Montillot, 
the builder of the present college, 
now residing at Grand Coteau, 
La., and Father Moynihan, the 
late incumbent. 

improvements. When the 
boys returned this year, they 
noted great changes about the 
College, — improvements every- 

The class rooms were entirely 
remodeled and refurnished. The 
old partitions were torn down and 
a corridor was extended along the 
north side of the house. The new 
rooms were built with a southern 
exposure, which is advantageous 
both for warmth in winter and for 
a breeze in summer. The walls 
and ceilings are of hard-finish 
lime, smooth and polished. Hand- 
some new desks and slate black- 
boards have been provided, and 
beautiful pictures add to the gen- 
eral attractiveness. "They almost 
make you feel like studying," 
some not over-industrious youth 
observed as he inspected them for 
the first time. 

The new Music Rooms and the 
Drawing Room on the second 
floor are also useful and desirable 

The Refectory has been supplied 
with strong and comfortable 



chairs, and has otherwise been 
fitted up and embellished. 

At present a massive and solid 
culvert is being erected to span 
the ravine in the exact place where 
the old bridge stood. This will 
afford a convenient straight road 
to and from the College grounds* 

The Faculty Library, with its 
artistic stairs and railing, will, 
when finished, present a beautiful 

Other alterations and improve- 
ments are in contemplation, some 
of a very important character. At 
this rate, our College Home will 
soon be second to no educational 
institution in the land in the line 
of material comforts and con 
veniences. Even now, what other 
college can boast of a lake, gym- 
nasium and campus such as we 

NEW Speaking of improve- 

JUNIOR ments, the Juniors 
CAMPUS. are patiently waiting 
for a playground large enough to 
move around in comfortably. As 
things are now, it is impossible for 
them to have more than one game 
of foot ball, two of base ball and 
two of hand ball, besides one 
brass band practice, going on at 
the same time; and, of course, at 
that rate, the poor fellows cannot 
be expected to develop into 
respectable athletes. They want 
elbow room — more of it. 

RHETORIC So far, two of the 
exhibition, classes have ap- 
peared "in public on the stage," 
and each gave very creditable per- 
formances. From the Register we 

glean the following account of the 
Ehetoric and Superior Commer- 
cial specimen which took place 
October 31st: 

Eloquence was the theme and well 
was it expounded in theory and prac- 
tice. Mr. D. J. O'Brien read a paper 
on eloquence, its effects on the world's 
history, and its uses in modern times. 
His voice was clear and resonant, his 
intonation good, his style terse and 
pithy and he managed to inject a liv- 
ing interest into both subject and de- 
livery. The essays of Messrs. Cramp- 
ton and Braun, though about such an- 
cient people as Cicero and St. John 
Chrysostom, were quite up-to-date in 
their treatment, and as interesting and 
instructive. These gentlemen read well 
and stopped before the interest began 
to lag. 

Mr. T. J. Touart undertook to prove 
the eloquence of Shakespeare as evi- 
denced in the play of "Julius Caesar." 
He examined critically and from an 
oratorical point of view Marc Antony's 
oration over Caesar's body, and proved 
that Shakespeare must have been thor- 
oughly acquainted with the natural law 
of eloquence. In illustration of these 
remarks, he introduced as he went 
along, Messrs. H. Esnard, C. A. Lelong 
and J. Ryan, who delivered selections 
from the great oration. They spoke 
with natural feeling, neither shouting 
nor ranting, and when Mr. Ryan re- 
peated Marc Antony's words, "And 
now you weep," he spoke the literal 
truth. In truth, he had brought tears 
to the eyes of his audience. 

The loud applause, again and again 
repeated, that was awarded the quar- 
tette as they left the stage, was inter- 
rupted by the appearance of Mr. J. Van 
Antwerp, who illustrated his paper on 
speech-building by an amusing parody 
on the oration that had just been de- 
claimed. He led his hearers gracefully 
from the sublime to the ridiculous, and 
the ringing laughter that greeted his 
sallies proved that the juveniles at 



least left without a murmur the heights 
to which the previous speakers had 
raised them. Mr. Van Antwerp was 
congratulated on all sides. 

The very amusing scene which was 
then enacted reflected credit on Mr. T. 
J. Touart of the Rhetoric Class, who 
adapted and arranged it. It was well 
staged, Messrs. Lelong, Touart, Dar- 
ragh and McCarty acting their parts 
admirably. Mr. Braun's inflections and 
intonations were particularly appro- 

The exhibition was brought to a 
happy conclusion by the class song and 
march, ably led by Messrs. Ryan and 

When the band, under the skillful 
management of Professor Staub, had 
cleverly rendered the "Polka Rheto- 
rica," a piece specially arranged for the 
occasion, Rev. Father Tyrrell, the Pres- 
ident, gracefully complimented the 
Rhetoric Class on their interesting ex- 
hibition, and especially on the natu- 
ralness with which they read and spoke 
and acted. 


Overture "Plantation Two-Step" 



' 'Eloquentia non modo eos ornat, penes quos est, 
sed etium universam rempublicam." 


That Eloquence is a Great Power... 

J. D. O'Brien. 

As Proved by the Examples of 

M. Tullius Cicero, G. C. Crampton. 

St. John Chrysostom, C. Braun. 

W. Shakespeare's, "Julius Caesar", 

T. J. Touart. 
And Illustrated bv Citations from the 


( R. Esnard, 

.A. Lelong, 
I J. Ryan. 
Witli Some Variations Thereof ... 

J. Van Antwerp. 

Whereto are Appended a Scene (Adapt- 
ed by T.J. Touart) Yclept. 


Judge Letemoff I. Darragh 

Lawyer GeteniofT C. A. Lelong 

Tripes, Shepherd and Amateur Butcher 
T. J. Touart. 

Punkin, a Farmer G. S. McCarty 

Clerk of Court J. Martin 

Constable C. Braun 

And a Word About Ourselves 

Rhetoric, J. Ryan. 

Commercial, J. D. O'Brien. 

Polka Rhetorica, College Brass Band. 

' 'Sunt delieta tamen quibus ignovisse velimus.' 


POETRY On December 6th, 
EXHIBITION, the Poetry and 
First Commercial Classes held, 
forth, and were received with con- 
tinual bursts of enthusiastic ap- 
plause. Their exhibition is thus 
described in the Register: 

"The gentlemen were unusually 
happy in the choice of their subject, as 
it was one that could not fail to arrest 
the attention of the entire audience 
and fully satisfy their anticipation of 
an enjoyable stance. It spoke of Jeru- 
salem and of its fall. 

Such was the tenor of the essays read 
by Messrs. H. Smith, A. Johnston, E. 
Dreaper and P. Bordenave,in a manner 
that both did ample justice to the pens 
w 7 hich produced them, and earned for 
the young men the generous applause 
of an appreciative audience. 

But the crowning glory of the enter- 
tainment was the short tragedy written 
by J. McGrath, one of the leaders of 
the Poetry Class. The principal role 
was enacted by the talented author of 
the play, who attained the highest 
praises of all who witnessed his render- 
ing of the death of Zacharias. Zacha- 
rias, pious, holy, venerable old man, 
goes about the city preaching the doc- 
trine of Christ, and advising peace with 
the Romans. John of Ghiscala, a Jew- 
ish leader, fears the popularity of Zach- 
arias, drags the martyr before the San- 
hedrim, presided over by Ananias, the 
high priest, accuses him of high treason, 
adduces a thousand flimsy arguments 
to prove his guilt; but Zacharias, in a 
simple, yet elevated manner, refutes 
his libels to such satisfaction that his 
judges are unanimously convinced of 
his innocence. The verdict, "Not 
guilty," enrages John of Ghiscala, who, 



drawing his dagger, slays Zacharias as 
he is leaving the Sanhedrim. 

In the second scene, Ghiscala and an- 
other factious leader, Simon Bar Gio- 
ras, are in prison; Josephus, the Histo- 
rian, and Flavius Clemens, a Roman 
officer, appear on the scene. This last 
part is a little masterpiece, and betrays 
a talent for tragic composition of no 
small dimensions; the manner in which 
Mr. McGrath wrote his dialogue can- 
not be sufficiently praised. Thunders 
of applause covered the falling of the 

Mr. W. Rice appeared on the boards 
as the cruel and crafty Ghiscala, and 
there can be no exaggeration in saying 
that he filled his role to perfection. 
His ringing voice, his facial expression, 
his masterly action riveted the atten- 
tion of all present. 

Mr. E. Dreaper, who had read some 
excellent Latin verses with clear voice, 
with intelligent and just emphasis, 
displayed in Flavius Clemens conside- 
rable dramatic power, and did full jus- 
tice to his part. 

Mr. H. Villars as Ananias, Mr. J. 
Schneider as Josephus, Mr. S. Toujan 
as Simon Bar Gioras, fellow-conspirator 
of Ghiscala, and Mr. L. Schoen, as that 
arch-dissimulator and trusty counsellor 
of John, received their due share of ap- 

The Rev. President paid a well-de- 
served compliment to the histrionic 
powers and especially the naturalness 
of the young actors. 


Overture— "Evelina" Orchestra 

Destruction of Jerusalem. 
Jerusalem, Descriptive Essay.. H. Smith 

Vaticinia et Omina Latin Verse 

(By the members of the Poetry Class.) 
E. Dreaper. 

The Romans Approach An Essay 

A. Johnston. 

The Fall of Zion A Dramatic Sketch 

Written by J. McGrath. 
Scene I— In the City — The Factions at 

Scene II — A Prison— The Factionist 
Leaders in Chains. 

Entr'acte— The Sack of the City An 

P. Bordenave. 



Zacharias J. McGrath 

John of Ghiscala W. Rice 

Simon Bar Gioras S. Toujan 

Archelaus L. Schoen 

Josephus J. Schneider 

Ananias. H. Villars 

Flavius Clemens E. Dreaper 

Judges— J. Alford, 0. McDonnell, A. 
Mutti, L. Pfister, J. Rougon, L. Sar- 
py. H. Smith, A. Staub. 
"Washington Reserves" — Quickstep — 

Junior Brass Band. 
"Abutilon Waltz" Senior Brass Band 

SENIOR The following is a 
SOCIETIES, list of the officers of 
the Senior Division Societies: 

Literary Society — President, 
S. Apperious; secretary, P. A. Le- 
long; censor, F. Solis. 

Beading Boom Association 
— President, F. Solis: secretary 
and treasurer, S. Apperious. 

Billiard Boom Association 
— President, P. A. Lelong; secre- 
tary and treasurer, H. Esnard; 
censors, O. McDonnell, J. Dar- 
ragh and O. Toups. 

The Gymnasium — President, 
W. Prejean; secretary and treas- 
urer, J. D. O'Brien; censors, J. 
Alford, W. Bice and L. Schoen. 

Senior Brass Band— Director, 
Prof. A. J. Staub; vice-president, 
S. Apperious; secretary, F. Solis; 
censor, H. Sarpy. 

Sodality of the Blessed 
Virgin — Prefect, L. Danos; 1st 
assistant, W. Prejean; 2nd assis- 
tant, C. Braun; secretary and 
treasurer, H. Sarpy; sacristan, J. 
D. O'Brien. 

League of the Sacred Heart 
— Promoters, J. L. Danos, T. J. 
Touart, J. D. O'Brien and W. 



JUNIOR The Junior Division 
SOCIETIES officers are as fol- 

Literary Society — President, 
E. B. Dreaper; secretary, P. L. 
Sarpy; censor, J. A. Boudousquie. 

Beading Koom Association — 
President, E. B. Dreaper; secre- 
tary, D. J. Villamil; treasurer, 
J. M. Walsh; librarians, L. Blouin 
and L. Darragh. 

Junior Brass Band — Direc- 
tor, Prof. A. Suffich; vice-presi- 
dent, E. B. Dreaper; secretary and 
treasurer, A. J. Staub; censor, M. 
D. Touart. 

Sodality of the Holy An- 
gels — Prefect, E. B. Dreaper; 
1st assistant, J. A. Boudousquie; 
2nd assistant, M. D. Touart; sac- 
ristans, E. Villamil and H. R. 

Altar Boys 7 Society — Pre- 
fect, E. B. Dreaper; secretary, M. 
D. Touart; treasurer, J. A. Bou- 
dousquie; censor, H. R. Murray. 

League of the Sacred Heart 
—Promoters, J. M. Walsh, E. B. 
Dreaper, P. L. Sarpy, J. A. Bou" 
dousquie and M. D. Touart. 

DEBATE. The members of the 
Senior Literary Society took part 
in an exciting debate on Sunday, 
the 4th of December. By special 
invitation the Faculty attended 
the meeting. The question dis- 
cussed was: "Is the Retention 
of the Philippines By the United 
States Government Desirable?" 
Affirmative — Messrs. J. M. Bur- 
guieres, F. Solis and C. A. Lelong. 
Negative — Messrs. P. A. Lelong, 
H. L. Sarpy and T. J. Touart. Mr. 

S. Apperious occupied the chair. 
The gentlemen spoke eloquently 
and logically, and sifted the issue 
pretty thoroughly. Messrs. Bur- 
guieres and P. A. Lelong deserve 
especial credit for the vigorous 
manner in which they upheld their 
respective sides. The awarding 
of the palm of superiority fell to 
the lot of the members of the 
Faculty. The Pros were decided 
to be the victors, only by one 
vote, so evenly matched were the 

FEAST OF The members of 
ST. CATHARINE, the Philosophy 
Class, after passing their examina- 
tion in Minor Logic, duly observed 
their Patron's Feast. They began 
by receiving Holy Communion in 
her honor. Then the whole day 
was given over to amusement and 
relaxation. In the afternoon they 
took dinner at Klosky's, to which 
they did ample justice. At its 
conclusion some of the class ora- 
tors waxed eloquent and made 
neat little speeches. Vivat, flores- 
cat '00 ! 

DEATH OF It is our 

MR. J. BURGUIERES. sa d duty 
to chronicle the death of one of 
Spring Hill's truest and staunch- 
est friends, Mr. J. Burguieres, of 
Franklin, La., who passed to a bet- 
ter land on the 1st of October last. 
Two of his sons, Denis and Joseph, 
graduated here in 1892, while 
three others are in present attend- 

FIRST Rev. F. Barry, S.J., was 
MASS. ordained to the sacred 
priesthood by Bishop Allen in 



Mobile, on December the 2nd. He 
said his First Mass in the College 
Church, on the Feast of St. Francis 
Xavier, in the presence of all the 
students, being assisted by Eev. 
W. Power, S.J., the Superior of the 
Southern Jesuits. Two of the 
Philosophers were accorded the 
privilege of acting as Acolytes. 
At the end of the Mass, the stu- 
dents went up to the Sanctuary 
railing and received the newly or- 
dained Priest's blessing. A holi- 
day was granted for the occasion 
and the bands played in honor of 
Father Barry. He has since left 
for Tampa, where he is to be en- 
gaged in missionary work. 

few days ago, on December 14th, 
Mr. Nicholas Fitzgerald, an old 
and respected citizen of Mobile, 
went to his eternal reward. He was 
over sixty years of age and a 
well-known merchant in the city. 
In him the community has lost an 
honorable and upright gentleman 
and a sterling and conscientious 
Catholic. Mr. Fitzgerald was ever 
a staunch friend of the College. 
His son, Edward T., who suc- 
ceeds him in business, was edu- 
cated at Spring Hill, and gradu- 
ated with distinction in 1892. 

PROFESSOR The many friends 
STAUB. of Professor Staub 

will rejoice to learn that he has 
entirely recovered from a compli- 
cated stomach trouble which 
brought him very near death's 
door and confined him to his bed 
for about six weeks. During this 

time the Professor's genial pres- 
ence was greatly missed about the 
College, and he himself declared 
he was home-sick for the old place. 
He has once more resumed his 
music lessons, and we all hope he 
has secured a new and very long 
lease of life. 

I M M ACU LATE The students hon- 
CONCEPTION ored their heav- 
enly Mother by receiving Holy 
Communion in a body on the 
Feast of her Immaculate Concep- 
tion. After supper, they gathered 
round her statue, which had pre- 
viously been beautifully illumi- 
nated, and sang hymns of love and 
praise to her. The Angels must 
have looked upon the touching 
scene and smiled with delight at 
this devout homage paid to their 
glorious Queen. 

TOTAL ECLIPSE |The Astronomi- 
OFTHE SUN. ca i board is 
making extensive preparations 
for the purpose of viewing the to- 
tal Eclipse of the Sun which is 
due May the 28th. Spring Hill 
and Mobile are both within the belt 
of advantageous observation and 
will be made the rendezvous of 
scientific men from many parts of 
the Union. Spring Hill extends a 
hearty welcome to the representa- 
tives of its sister institutions who 
are coming to study this solar 
phenomenon. We trust the 
weather conditions will be more 
satisfactory than they were last 
November 15th, when the mete- 
oric shower was expected. Ow. 
ing to the cloudiness of the at- 



mosphere, this splendid luminary 
display was altogether invisible. 

NOVEN A TO ST. Ava i 1 i n g 

JOHN BERCHMAUS. themselves 
of the special privilege granted 
to Colleges, the students made a 
novena to St. John Berchmans 
from the 10th to the 19th of No- 
vember. His picture was exposed 
in the Church for public venera- 
tion, and on the latter date, every 
one went to Holy Communion. 
No doubt the angelic St. John ob- 
tained many a favor for his trusty 

FATHER Through an over- 
GAUTRELET. sight in the sketch 
of Eev. F. S Gautrelet, S. J., the 
fact that he served a term as pres- 
ident of Spring Hill from 1862 to 
1865 was omitted. This was a 
very trying period on account of 
the war. 

VISITORS. Among our frequent 
and ever welcome visitors are Rt. 
Rev. P. A. Allen, D.D., Bishop of 
Mobile; Very Rev. C. T. O'Calla- 
ghan, D.D., Vicar General of the 
diocese; Very Rev. W. Power, S.J., 
Superior of the Southern Mission, 
who, shortly after his arrival from 
Rome, brought us a picture of the 
Pope, presented by the Holy 
Father himself with his blessing 
to Spring Hill College; Major P. C. 
Hannan, of Mobile, who has some 
warm friends both among the Fac- 
ulty and the students. 

In the early part of December, 
we had the pleasure of a flying 
visit from the original "Dooley" 
of national fame. An editor him- 
self, Mr. Dunn wished the editors 
of the Review all possible success. 
He spoke admiringly of everything 
he saw about the College, the lake 
above all. 


Say, Carl, can you play second 
base 1 ? 

I should smile — can play it like 

I mean, though, second base in 
the band. 

Aw! — call again, will you? 

Student [after wading through a 
fascinating passage of " Be Bello 
Gallico ") — Did Caesar find time to 
write all this hard Latin while he 
was fighting all those tribes with 
strange names'? 

Professor — Why certainly; you 
must remember that the great 
Dictator was a man of no ordinary 

Student [aside) — He must have 
been a queer dux. 

Marion — There's something else 
sure in this life besides death and 

Joe— What's that? 

Marion — Five o'clock study — we 
never miss it. 



Berney, here's a problem you 
can't solve : — A man sold a Billy- 
goat to a butcher for 50 cents ; 
the next day this same man bought 
a leg of mutton cut from this same 
Billy-goat by this same butcher, 
and paid 80 cents for it. What 
was the butcher's gain per cent? 

Berney — Well — ex— {with a broad 
smile) — pretty good! 

What was the matter with you, 
Jack, during study after supper? 
You looked as if you had an attack 
of the "divine afflatus," you were 
writhing so. Were you sick ? 

Oh, no, I was just getting into a 

A glow for what? You're not 
writing poetry are you? 

No; writing jokes for the Re- 

One of our embryonic poets? 
hearing the tiny sparrows abused, 
straddled his Pegasus in their de- 
fence, with the following result: 

They fly as free as the air above, 
They chirp the song of liberty; 

By earth and sky their home enclosed, 
Their swing a branch, their perch a 

Another aspiring friend of the 
Muses while taking a stroll in the 
woods and drinking in the beauty 
of the scenery, saw a stately pine 
fall under the stroke of Tom 
Noble's destructive axe. In fancy 
he heard the humbled tree give out 
its death-cry in the following im- 

Thou ruthless vandal, armed with gleam- 
ing blade, 
A curse upon thy woolly pate! 
May thy own falling be not long de- 
layed — 
Be thou too stricken down bv Fate ! 


SENIOR ATHLETIC Shortly after 
ASSOCIATION. the arrival of 
the boys, when things had gotten 
into good running order, a mass 
meeting ol the Seniors was called, 
at which measures were adopted 
to reorganize our Athletic Asso- 
ciation and College Nine. Great 
interest and enthusiasm prevailed, 
which gave promise of a success- 
ful season on track and campus. 
The officers elected for the ensu- 
suing year were: President, F. So- 
ils; Secretary, H. L. Sarpy; Treas- 
urer, J, H. Ryan. W. Prejean was 

chosen Manager, and S. Apperi- 
ous Captain of the College Nine. 
S. Cowley is official Umpire, and 
J. Casserly and S. Lanata are the 

FIELD The First of November 
DAY. W as Field Day, and both 
divisions were occupied all day in 
athletic sports. The Register 
gives the following account of it: 
As will be seen by the results, the 
honors in the Senior Division fell to 
Messrs. W. Prejean, Apperious and 
Esnard. W. Prejean, who is the 
pitcher of the College nine, returned to 



Spring Hill, wearing a handsome gold 
watch, presented to him by his fellow- 
citizens of Donaldson ville, La., for hav- 
ing in a series of baseball games led the 
city team to victory unmarred by a sin- 
gle defeat. 

The winners deserved their laurels, 
though fortune was fickle as usual. On 
the mile walk, Arthur Johnson missed 
second place by stumbling within a few 
feet from the rope, and P. A. Lelong, 
who failed in the high jump, beat the 
winning record immediately after the 
contest by two inches. G. McCarty 
made a noble struggle for the high 
jump, and would no doubt have won 
had he been a few inches longer. 

Special praise is due to the umpires 
and referees, owing to whose efficiency 
and judgment everything went off with- 
out a hitch. 

Records Senior Division — 

Fifty Yards Dash— First, H. Esnard, 
6 seconds; second, W. Prejean. 

One Hundred Yards Dash — First, S. 
Apperious, 10 seconds; second, W. Pre- 

One Hundred Yards Dash — Second 
Division— First, H. McPhillips, 11 sec- 
onds; second, G. McCarty. 

One Mile Walk— First, W. Prejean ; 
second, J. Schneider. 

Throwing Base Ball— First, S. Appe- 
rious, 112 yards; second, H. Esnard. 

Running Broad Jump — First, S. Ap- 
perious, 19.6 inches; second, W. Pre- 

High Jump — First, W. Prejean, 65 
inches; second, G. McCarty. 

Obstacle Race — First, P. A. Lelong; 
second, W. Prejean. 

Sack Race — First, H. Sarpy; second, 
W. Prejean. 

Three-Legged Race— First, H. Es- 
nard and W. Prejean ; second, S. Appe- 
rious and H. Sarpy. 

High Kick— First, P. A. Lelong, 115 
inches; second, W. Prejean. 

Pole Vaulting— First, W. Prejean, 99 
inches; pecond, H. Sarpy. 

Hop, Step and Jump— First, H. Es- 
nard; second, W. Prejean. 

Umpire — F. Solis. 

In the Junior Division, if noise and 
merriment are a test of enjoyment, the 
games were a complete success — in fact, 
almost a howling success. George 
Prejean proved himself a worthy 
brother of the hero of the Senior Divi- 
sion, E. Dreaper being a dangerous 

Records Junior Division — 
George Prejean cleared 16 feet 8 
inches in the broad jump, with A. Staub 
a close second. 

High Jump— First, E. Dreaper, 59 
inches; second, A. Staub, J. Boudous- 

Putting Twelve-Pound Shot— First, 
D. Villamil, who made the splendid 
throw of 36 feet; second, A. Staub. 

Half Mile Race— First, J. Walsh; sec- 
ond, G. Prejean, giving 50 yards handi- 

140 Yards — First, R. Quinlivan; sec- 
ond, P. Davis. 

200 Yards— First, B. Strauss: second, 
J. Scott. 

Sack Race— First, E. Dreaper; sec- 
ond, G. Prejean. 

Obstacle Race— First, J. Walsh; sec- 
ond. E. Powers. 

Throwing Baseball — First, E. Drea- 
per; second, M. Touart. 

Throwing Baseball — Second Divi- 
sion — First, H. Murray; second, J. 

Throwing Baseball — Third Division — 
First, W. Villamil; second, J. Pino. 

Jumping on Rings — First, R. Quinli- 
van; second, J. Walsh. 

A new feature in the day's sports, 
which added immensely to the amuse- 
ment, was the cake walk. The kettle- 
drum beat and cornet played "A Hot 
Time," and a hot time it was when the 
pairs fronted the audience. Universal 
applause awarded the cake to Masters 
T. McCarty and C. Costello, the other 
contestants being M. Touart and J. 
Boudousqui6, M. Shea and L. Ryan, R. 
Quinlivan and W. Villamil. 

A general tug of war followed in 
which the opposing sides were cap- 
tained by Dreaper and Walsh. There 



was a deadlock for many minutes, but 
finally the staying powers of Captain 
Walsh and his men won the coveted 
prize. The participants and spectators 
have all expressed themselves pleased 
with the Field Day of '99. 

base the College Nine. Since 
BALL, its organization at the be- 
ginning of the session, the College 
Nine has played three games, two 
victories and one defeat. The 
Register for November 7th con- 
tains the following: 

Sunday afternoon, the Spring Hill 
College nine met and defeated a strong 
combination of Exile and Loyal players 
of Mobile. This was their second tri- 
umph since their organization this sea- 
sou, they having almost shut out the 
Victors on October 15, when the score 
stood 8 to 1. It was a one-sided con- 
test from start to finish. 

Sunday's game, however, did not 
promise to be such a walk-over. The 
College men had to face a much more 
formidable foe, and in the beginning of 
the game it looked very much as if the 
visitors would carry off the honors of 
the day. The latter took first inning 
and scored one run, but the College not 
having got their eye on Rusch's curves 
went out in one-two-three order. In 
the second inning, matters were some- 
what reversed, the visitors making but 
one tally, while their opponents, set- 
tling down to business, reached the 
home bag three times. 

From this inning on to the end, the 
College nine were confident of victory. 
By judicious batting and cautious base 
running, they kept steadily in the lead. 
Prejean, their incomparable twirler, 
was at his best and upheld his fame by 
striking out thirteen of the opposing 
batters. Apperious looked after the 
receiving end of the battery in his 
usual quick and skilful style. All the 
players, in fine, braced up for the game 
and distinguished themselves in various 
departments, Danos and Newman show- 

ing up specially well in the field, while 
Braun, Woods and Sarpy did some 
effective stick work for the College. 

The visitors also went into the game 
with a snap and gave a good account of 
themselves from first to last inning. 
They took their defeat like true sports- 
men as they are, blaming neither luck 
nor umpire, but attributing their down- 
fall to the superior skill of the aggre- 
gation led by Sam and the "Kid." 

The features of the game on the side 
of the Mobiles were W. Kenny's sensa- 
tional catches and stops at third, and 
Lauzon's batting and catching behind 
the rubber. J. Rasher handled the in- 
dicator to the satisfaction of all. 

The following is the score by innings: 

Visitors 110010011—5 

College 03400110x— 9 

The story of disaster is thus told 
in the Daily Herald of Nov. 19th: 

The game of the season came off 
Thursday on the Spring Hill College 
campus. The creme de la creme of 
Mobile base ball talent formed a com- 
bination to wrest the championship 
from the thus far victorious college. 
They looked formidable as they stepped 
to the bat, but not to "Kid" Prejean, 
the College pitcher, who "fanned out" 
Calametti and Crowe, the first two 
batsmen, and held Schmidt to first, by 
promptly retiring Duff. Then the Col- 
lege boys yelled, and hope ran high. 
But, the College batsmen had no better 
luck at the plate, nor could the visitors 
improve their position till the fifth 
inning, when Crowe managed to cross 
the "rubber." Then the College came 
in, and Danos, the crack centre fielder, 
rammed the ball for a three bagger, 
and scored on a hit. Again the one- 
two-three order, until theeighth inning, 
when Sam Apperious, the College cap- 
tain, caught the sphere at the end of a 
catalpa bat, and drove it on a bee line 
over the fence with the speed of a can- 
non ball. Martin remarked that when 
he caught up with it, 'twas near the 
old ball diamond, and still making 



pretty good speed. By that time Sam 
was at home, and was resting himself 
on the players' bench. The next in- 
ning being the first half of the ninth 
the Mobiles got ready for a final stren- 
uous effort. Two men are out, and 
three on base. Intense excitement 
prevails, and the "kids" shout and 
wave their caps. Kelly makes a lovely 
drive to left and Crowe and Schmidt 
cross the plate. The little fellows are 
frantic when another run is scored, 
thus piling on the agony and making it 
2 to 5. The College boys are unable to 
score, and the visitors win the day. 

Although defeated, the College team 
feels unconquered, and is confident of 
victory in the next game. 

Senior League — T he two 
League teams, under the captain- 
cy of S. Apperious and W. Prejean, 
respectively, are putting up a close 
contest for the gold pins to be 
presented to the victors at the end 
of the series. At present writing, 
they are neck-and-neck in the 
race, each having won two games. 
One of these, played December 
12th, was an exciting 1 to 1 tie, 
until the eleventh inning, when 
"Sam's Sluggers" broke the num- 
erical monotony by making two 
runs, thereby winning the game 
by the score of 3 to 1. The boys 
are playing first-class ball, and an 
exciting finish is expected. Carl 
Braun, who seldom prophesies un- 
less he knows, declares that "Pre- 
jean's Pets," will have to congrat- 
ulate the other side on the beauty 
of their pins; on the other hand, 
the "Kid," who also knows, says 
that the decorations will glitter on 
his own men's coat lapels. Time 
will tell ! 

Among the Juniors— To be in 

the Junior Division and not be at 
least a passable ball-tosser, is to 
be on the last rung of the human 
ladder. You will be accounted a 
non-entity, pure and simple; so 
you'd better learn how before you 
appear among them. Lessons in 
the diamond art can be had free 
of charge — provided you furnish 
the articles to be used in practice 
—from H. Clarke, F. Guili, W. 
Lambert and other amateur-pro- 

The Junior League — T h e 
League is on a good footing. Capt. 

D. Villamil and Manager G. Pre- 
jean, of the Eeds, and Captain 

E. Dreaper and Manager V. Eou- 
gon, of the Blacks, are doing all 
they can to capture the champion- 
ship and, with it, the much-cov- 
eted gold pins. They have so far 
played eleven games, the Beds 
being in the lead by one game. 
Some of the youngsters are play- 
ing gilt-edged ball, and, although 
the error column is still over- 
crowded, steady practice will im- 
prove the situation, and make fin- 
ished artists of them. The two of- 
ficial scorers, L. Byan and M. 
Shea, are accurate and prompt in 
the performance of their duty. 

The Juniors do not often appear 
in games with outsiders. They 
played once against a nondescript 
team from the Senior Division, 
and beat them badly. They have 
some good material for a First 
Nine. The Captains and Managers, 
together with Gus Staub. L. Sar- 
py, Frank Giuli, Max Touart, 
Louis Pfister and Albert Otis, 



would form a strong base ball 

Get together, boys! practise up 
and you will surely make it inter- 
esting for any juvenile aggregation 
that is ambitious enough to chal- 
lenge your superiority. 

WALK TO THE it is a tiine- 
WATER-WORKS. honored custom 
among the Juniors to pay an annual 
visit to the Bienville Water Works, 
about seven miles from the Col. 
lege. This year a band of twenty 
chosen pedestrians started out one 
cool morning, went to the place, 
admired the clear lake, inspected 
the pumps and machinery, and re- 
turned in about three hours and a 
half. They were tired out when 

they reached home, and for some 
days following; but it was a great 
consolation for them to see the "big 
boys" try the same feat a short time 
after, and come home late for din- 
ner. And yet they will guy the 
"kids!" Those who are in the 
secret say that the gentleman who 
was leading them that day forgot 
himself, and, instead of striking a 
bee-line for his College home, 
veered over toward his Summer- 
ville one. 

Hand ball remains a popular 
game among the boys. Foot ball 
is played to a great extent among 
the Juniors. 

Fred Solis, '00. 

Jos. M. Walsh, '03. 


The Alumni department is a 
new feature introduced into the 
Eeview. Its purpose is to keep 
past and present students posted 
on the movements of the former ? 
each one of whom is earnestly re- 
quested to inform us of their own 
and their fellow-collegians' avoca- 
tions or occupations. In this 
way, the Eeview will become the 
organ, not only of the undergrad- 
uate, but of the alumnus as well. 

•51. For many years the late Hon. 
Edward E. Bermudez, '51, Chief 
Justice of the Supreme Court of 
Louisiana, was the oldest living 
graduate of Spring Hill College. 
Since his decease in 1892, we do 

not know positively who enjoys 
this distinction. A sketch of the 
Judge will appear in another num- 
ber of the Eeview. 

•55. We have been informed by 
Hon. George Henry Theard that, 
according to report, Mr. Charles 
Maurian, '55, now a resident of 
Paris, is the oldest living gradu- 
ate. Some one of the alumni 
might be able to clear up this 

'56. Hon. B, D. McEnery, '56, 
U. S. Senator from Louisiana, so 
prominent in the Philippine agita- 
tion, kindly sent us copies of some 
of his speeches, for which we 



heartily thank him. A sketch of 
his career will appear in our 

'69. Rev. John Brislan, S. J., '69, 
has been appointed President of 
the College of the Immaculate 
Conception in New Orleans. For 
the past twelve years he had occu- 
pied the position of Rector of 
the Scholasticate, at Macon, Ga. 

'85, '89, '92. Mr. John P. Kohn 
'85, is a member of the City Coun- 
cil of Montgomery, Ala., and, with 
his brother, William H. Kohn, '92, 
is an influential member of the 
Josiah Morris Banking Company. 
The former was lately married. 
Mr. Francis D. Kohn, '89. suc- 
ceeded his father in the manage- 
ment of an extensive Insurance 
business in the same city. 

'75. Dr. Henry Hirshfield, '75, 
has been Coroner of Mobile Coun- 
ty for the past eleven years. We 
had intended to publish an ac- 
count of his career, but circum- 
stances necesitated our holding it 
over for our next issue. 

Dr. Paul E. Archinard, '75, oc- 
cupies the position of Professor of 
Diseases of the Nervous System 
and Clinical Microscopy in the 
New Orleans Polyclinic, and is 
also Vice-President of the Fac- 

'84. Dr. Angelo Festorazzi, '84, a 
successful physician in Mobile 
recently returned from an enjoy- 
able tour of Europe. He has re- 
sumed his practice. 

Hon. John St. Paul, '84, Judge 
of Division C, Civil District Court 
of the Parish of Orleans, La., 
graciously complied with our re- 
quest to contribute to the Review 
and forwarded a paper entitled: 
"Be Practical." Owing to the na- 
ture of the advice it contains, it 
will be more appropriate for our 
next issue, when the young gradu- 
ates are about to enter upon the 
great battle of life. 

'86. Mr. Martin D. McGrath, '86, 
of Brookhaven, Miss., was present- 
ed with a magnificent silver cup 
by the Mississippi Chess Associa- 
tion for the state championship. 

'92. Messrs. Denis and Joseph 
Burguieres, both '92, are conduct- 
ing profitable sugar interests in St. 
Mary's Parish, La. 

'93. Rev. Thomas P. Cassidy, '93, 
is Parish Priest in Warrington, 
Fla. He is active and zealous and 
doing great work among his flock. 
He occasionally drops in to see 
his old friends. 

'94. Mr. Clarence Herbert, '94, is 
practising law with his father in 
Plaque mine, La. 

Mr. Matthias Mahorner, '94, and 
Mr. John Glennon, '85, are in law 
partnership in Mobile. They both 
studied at Harvard. 

'95. Mr. Joseph V. Kearns, Jr., 
'95, while keeping books for a large 
firm in Mobile, has undertaken the 
study of medicine at the State 
Medical College. 

Dr. Paul Boudousqui6, Jr., '95, 



has written an interesting drama 
entitled "The Poet," which has 
met with favorable comment from 
the critics. 

'96. Mr. Graham M. Stafford, '96, 
who carried off the honors of his 
class, was studying medicine at 
Georgetown University when the 
Spanish-American War broke out. 
He then enlisted as a lieutenant in 
Hood's Immunes, and subsequent- 
ly went to Cuba with his com- 
mand. Upon his return he re- 
sumed his medical studies at Tu- 
lane University in New Orleans. 

Mr. William O. Cowley, '96, has 
been admitted to the bar in Mo- 

'97. Mr. Albert L. Grace, '97, of 
Plaquemine, La., is studying law 
at Georgetown University. 

Mr. James H. Glennon, '97, is 

doing a thriving Insurance busi- 
ness with his father in Mobile. 

98. Mr. Edward B. Colgin, '98, 
and Mr. Joseph T. Kice, '98, are 
taking a law course, Mr. Robert 
S. Garnett, '98, a medical course, 
and Mr. Edmund J. Shannon, '98, 
a literary course in Georgetown 

'99. Mr.ClarenceKearns,S.J.,who 
was a member of the class of '99, 
took his vows in the Society of 
Jesus last September. 

The '99 graduates are all doing 
well. Messrs. Forest C. Braud 
and Rene F. Sere, are engaged 
in mercantile pursuits; Messrs. 
Albert E. Fossier, Herbert H. 
Lyons and Emile H. Rey- 
nes are studying law. Mr. 
Lyons lately made a trip to Eu- 
rope, an account of which would 
surely prove interesting to the 
readers of the Review. 


Stately hall and gilded dome, 
pleasant grove where songsters roam, 
Roses' haunt, fair lilies' home ! 
In its leafy woodland dell, 
Neath its shade on lake and fell, 
gracious Muses love to dwell. 

How its praises rare to sing, 
Idle 'twere our words to bring ; — 
Lift thy voice, O purling Spring ! 
Let the Hill thy music ring! 

-e=^_L. p. s._^ 


Spring Hill College, 


SPRING HILL COLLEGE is built on a rising ground, five miles 
distant from Mobile and elevated one hundred and fifty feet 
above the sea-level. It enjoys a constantly refreshing breeze, which 
renders its situation both agreeable and healthy. The surrounding 
woods afford the most pleasant summer walks. A never-failing spring 
at the foot of the hill, and within the College grounds, furnishes an 
abundant and lasting supply of water to a beautiful lake where the 
students may safely enjoy the beneficial exercise of swimming. Long 
experience has proved that, owing to its position, the College is en- 
tirely exempt from those diseases which prevail at certain seasons in 
the South. 

The College was incorporated in 1836 by the Legislature of Ala- 
bama, with all the rights and privileges of a university, and empow- 
ered in 1840 by Pope Gregory XYI to grant degrees in Philosophy 
and Theology. 

The Directors of the Institution are members of the Society of 
Jesus which, from its origin, has devoted itself to the education of 
youth. They will endeavor to show themselves deserving of the con- 
fidence reposed in them by evincing on all occasions a paternal solici- 
tude for the health and comfort of those entrusted to their charge, by 
sparing no pains to promote their advancement, and by keeping a care- 
ful and active watch over their conduct. The exercise of their author- 
ity will be mild without being remiss, in enforcing that strict disci- 
pline and good order so essential for the proper culture of both mind 
ami heart. By this two-fold education, which is based upon religion 
and morality, they will exert all their energies not only to adorn the 
minds of their pupils with useful knowledge, but also to instil into 
their hearts solid virtue and a practical love of the duties which they 
will have to discharge in after life. 

The public worship of the Institution is that of the Catholic Reli- 
gion ; pupils, however, of other denominations are received, provided 
that, for the sake of order and uniformity, they are willing to conform 
to the exterior exercises of worship. 

The plan of instruction is established on a large scale, and is cal- 
culated to suit not only the wants, but the progress of society. It con- 
sists of three principal courses under the names of Preparatory, 
Commercial and Classical. 

French, German, Spanish, Italian, form separate courses, are op- 
tional, and are taught free of charge. 

Kxtensive grounds, spacious buildings, commodious class rooms, 
library, reading rooms, billiard and recreation rooms, and the largest 
and best equipped college gymnasium in the South, afford every facil- 
ity for the self-improvement and physical well-being of the student. 

For catalogue, &C, apply to Rev. W. J. Tyrrell, S. J., President. 

U. S. Senator from Louisiana. 

6^- ^ A. M. D. G. 

Spring Hill Review. 

Spring Hill College, 



Commercial Printing Company, 
Morile, Ala. 



King of Warblers. Verse.. Joseph Ryan, '02 1 

The Choice of a Profession — Introduction P. Antonin Lelong, '00 3 

I — Importance of a Right Choice F. Solis, '00 5 

II — The Difficulties in the Way Samuel H. Apperious, '00 7 

III — How to Choose lules M. Burguieres. '0J 9 

Stray Lines. Verse. Abram J. Ryan 13 

Father John James Duffo, S. J. Edward B. Dreaper, '02 14 

The Passing of Bayard C. Andre Lelong. '01 17 

The Haunted House P. S. Cowley, '03 20 

Through England and France. H. Herbert Lyons, '99 22 

To a Rosebud after a Storm. Verse 1901 26 

History J. Douerlas O'Brien, '00 26 

Be Practical Hon. John St. Paul, '84 29 

The Fire at Grand Coteau F. P. Garesche, S. J., 30 

Incendium Collegii Sancti Caroli. Latin Verse C. M. W. 33 

Spring Hill to Grand Coteau. Verse F. J. M. 34 

A True Gentleman Emilio E. Villamil, '03 35 

Autobiography of a Coin Eugene Costello, '04 36 

The Jesuit Plan of Education Hon. Charles J. Theard, '76 38 

The Way to Jesus' Heart. Verse J. Irving 45 

Lost in the Woods Maximin D. Touart, '03 46 

Uncle Isaac's Mission B. Vaught, '01 48 

Speech of Patrick Henry George S. McCarty, '01 51 

Billy, the Spring Hill Deer Herbert O'Neill, '05 54 

Horace to Virgil. Verse S. H. C. 58 

A False Heroine Joseph M. Walsh, '03 58 

Belle-Isle James C. Casserly, '03 61 

Professor Angelo Suffich F. Marion Inge, '04 65 

Jubilee Ode. Verse F. P. G. 66 

Henry IV. and the Peasant Clarence A. Costello, '02 67 

Rapid Firing Guns Henry L. Sarpy, '00 69 

An Oft-Dreamt Dream T. Peyton Norville, Jr., '04 70 

Spring Season. Verse John H. Ryan, '01 71 

Joy's Mystery. Verse Jack McGrath, '02 72 

The Story of the Boers Robert A. Flautt, '03 74 

Historic St. Bernard Arthur E. Maumus, '00 76 

The Wren. Verse Louis Pfister, '01 79 

The Twentieth Day. Verse Henry A. Esnard, '00 80 

Battle of Mobile Bay Henry A. McPhillips,'00 80 

Spring Hill Pines 83 

Sonnets to Mary J.Irving 84 

Hon. Samuel Douglas McEnery P. Antonin Lelong, '00 85 

John of the Golden Mouth Carl E. Braun, '01 86 


(Jack McGrath, '02 ) 

A Tragic Episode. Verse \ Edward B. Dreaper, '02 \ 

{ B. Vaught, '01 j 

The Eclipse of the Sun J. L. Danos, '00 88 

The Senior Baud Wallace Prejean, '00 90 

The (Jueen of the Mexican Gulf Tisdale J. Touart, '01 91 

The Envelope's Soliloquy Jack McGrath, '02 93 

College Notes 94 

Among the Old Boys 101 

Sprii^ flill l^euieu/. 

Vol. III. JUNE, 1900. No. 1 


A S glad and as gay 
As the cataract's spray, 

When it leaps in the light of the sun ; 
As soft and as low 
As the rivulet's flow, 

When the din of the daylight is done ; 

As fresh as the morn 

When the sound of the horn 
Hurries hunter and hoof in its ring ; 

Or hind in her flight 

Tripping ever so light 
To her home by the side of the spring 


Thy infinite song 

Bears my spirit along 
In its music so varied and free. 

But, oh ! in the night, 

By the moon's mellow light, 
Tis the lute of an angel to me. 

The whippoor-will's cry, 
And the dove's lonely sigh, 

And the thrush's melodious trill, 
Might blend one and all, — 
But, the mocking-bird's call, — 

Yes ! I 'd ask for the mocking-bird still. 

Thou bird of my heart, 

Who can tell whence thou art 
All enrapt in thy whole-soul'd endeavor ? 

The oak is thy throne, 

And a seraph's thy tone ! 
Thou art lord of the woodland forever ! 




,<T)ROFESSION!" says Charles 

-t to himself*. He has just 
passed his final examination. He 
is pretty sure of a diploma, with 
the signature of live professors, to 
his credit. He has finished a cur- 
riculum of studies such as none 
but men of sound intellect would 
be permitted to attempt. 

"Profession !" he repeats. "Hang 
profession !" he cries, as he dives 
headlong into the nearest sport — 
baseball, if he happen to be in 
the open field, or, if he be in the 
study hall, the nearest novel or 
interesting magazine. 

"Charles, have you decided 
upon your profession yet?" This 
time there is no escape. It is the 
voice of another, and the tone 
of it wakes Charles, as from a 
happy dream, to the real state of 

"Sorry to tell you, Charles," 
continued his father, with a voice 
that chills his son to the very 
marrow, "I have just failed in 
business. Thank God, I have 
been able to give you a good edu- 
cation, my son, and you are able 
to strike out for yourself." 

"Profession !" says Charles a 
third time. The word comes now 
from the depth of his soul. "Give 
me three days to think of it." 

His father embraces him and 
goes away relieved in spirit that 
his boy has at last realized that 
"life is real, life is earnest." 

In three days of consideration, 
the young man had thoughts more 

serious than might have been ex- 
pected. Charles has studied Poe- 
try, Rhetoric and Philosophy. He 
is full of pleasant theories, and 
has been so for the last three 
years. But now, to be suddenly 
driven into actual, practical life — 
how sad! He realizes it. He re- 
calls the days, — things of the 
past, — when he could write a 
hurried composition, in prose or 
verse, and hand it to his profes- 
sor as a result of huge labor. That 
same professor had one day called 
him aside and said to him, "Do 
you play chess, Charles ?" 

"Yes, sir!" 

Then holding the composition 
in his hand, "Do you think, 
Charles," he asked, "that when 
you are out in the wide world, 
every one, like me, will take a 
pawn for a castle so easily, or a 
castle for a king?" 

Charles did not relish the gen- 
tle remark of his professor. He 
had tried to smile over the innu- 
endo. But in the present crisis, 
the professor seemed to him to 
have had a superhuman insight 
into his future. 

The first thing that struck 
Charles was the importance of 
getting his right place in the 
world. The love of poetry, and 
still more his course of philoso- 
phy had imperceptibly a great in- 
fluence over his mind. 

"I must do something noble," 
he thought. This was his poetry. 
"A man may cheat the world for 


a time; but the world will find 
him out." Here was his philoso- 
phy. "Besides, when the great 
day of reckoning comes, I should 
far rather be on the side of the 
sheep." This was his persuasive 

Shakespeare had said, "Man's 
life is a stage." But Charles pre- 
ferred for the present to picture 
life as a great, exciting game, an 
important game, on which might 
depend his earthly happiness, and 
with which might be blended, too, 
some eternal interests. 

Life as a chess-game struck him 
forcibly. "There is no use being 
a king," he said, "if you are going 
to be taken." He thought of Na- 
poleon's game — lost by a pawn — 
and of his meditation after the 


'Twas so at Waterloo !" 

said Napoleon. "Only a pawn 
was missing." 

"King or pawn — governor or 
subject — captain or private — 
whatever I be," said Charles, "let 
me be a true, genuine one, worthy 
of my calling !" 

It was perhaps but a passing 
thought, and not a settled resolu- 
tion. But he felt for a moment 
elevated above the plane of his 
ordinary thoughts. What a noble 
aspect has even the pent-up city, 
factories, store-houses, and syndi- 
cate buildings, when seen from 
the harbor in the distance ! So 
did Charles' distant view of his 
future career appear to him at that 

He determined to make the best 
of his happy thought. It was a 
light from heaven. He would go 

at once to his professor's room — 
the same who had so often shown 
an interest in his pupil's welfare — 
and from him obtain a still wider 
view of the career that lay before 

He knocked at the professor's 

"Come in !" 

Charles enters. 

"What is the matter, my boy?" 

"Could you spare me a few min- 
utes, sir?" asked Charles mod- 

The professor, always over- 
busy, was inclined to shirk all ap- 
parent loss of time. But he real- 
ized, in the very tone and glance 
of the young man, something of 
seriousness and agitation. 

"No accident has befallen you?" 
asked the professor. 

"Worse than accident," cried 
Charles, determined, more than 
his professor, to waste no time in 
talk. "If it were an accident, I 
might die. But — I've got to live." 

"Tell me all," said Mr. Barnes, 
looking kind and sympathetic, but 
concealing the inward satisfaction 
he felt to see so much earnestness 
in his wayward pupil. "Out with 
it, and I shall do all I can for you." 

"Only give me some advice," 
said Charles. "My father has 
failed, I am thrown out on the 
world. What am I to do ?" 

"Have you no time to consider 
the matted" 

"Three days. No more." 

"Three days ? Very good. 
Plans of battles, plans of build- 
ings, conceptions of statesmen, ora- 
tors and poets, have often been 


formed in less than three days. 
You ask me for advice. It is not 
easy to give advice on such mat- 
ters. No one can choose for you. 
No one can carry out your choice 
for you. You alone must do both. 
I can. however, point out to you 

the paramount importance of 
choosing your profession honestly 
and conscientiously." 

The substance of the professor's 
advice is contained in the follow- 
ing paper. 

P. Antonin Lelong, '00. 


Let us suppose, for a moment, 
that each man in the world were 
in his right place and position. 
You can see how the whole world, 
in consequence, would be in per- 
fect harmony. The earth would 
be a Terrestrial Paradise, the Mil- 
lenium would be at hand. 

Rulers and subjects, employers 
and laborers, in peace, unity and 
charity, would advance in vigor of 
soul and body. The passions of 
men would be devoted to study 
and intellectual pursuits — not to 
the trampling under foot of their 
fellow-men. Virtue, unshackled 
and unhindered, would hold sway 
above the glitter of gold or the 
shield of a name. Amiability and 
gentleness on the one hand, mag- 
nanimity and energy on the other, 
would be as it were personified in 
the state of human affairs. 

But this cannot be. This shall 
never be the state of affairs, as 
long as man is subject to passion. 
Experience shows that, while he 
bears along with him a mortal 
body, he will never be perfect 
master of his inclinations and de- 

As long as even a vestige of 
envy, jealousy, anger, ambition, or 
tyranny, remains in the heart of 
man ; as long as the wicked have 

even a chance to succeed : in 
plain language, till doom's day, 
we shall find the basest, lowest, 
worst of men, seizing by hook or 
crook the offices of honor; we 
shall find him who can stoop to 
flattery and sycophancy rising 
above the surface, and the nega- 
tive, inactive politician passing as 
the soul of honor and integrity. 

In truth, you might go to our 
own Capital to-day, to our armies, 
to our navies, and find there pro- 
portionately as many self-seeking, 
honor-seeking, gold-seeking dis- 
positions, as you might have 
found in Pagan Rome in the days 
of Ciceio and Catiline. 

How many a young aspirant, 
through the wiles of a shrewd pa- 
rent or patron, has been hoisted 
to a position he is incapable of 
fulfilling! How many an old man, 
in his dotage, "pulled by the 
nose" by some bland sycophant, 
will attempt another Manassas 
at the cost of the lives of his 
countrymen, and only resign his 
commission when the harm is ir- 
reparably done? 

AVhat is the consequence ? The 
officer fitted for command, re- 
mains forever a lieutenant. The 
young lawyer fit for the senate, 
spends his life behind the writing- 



table. The man of commercial 
enterprise, fitted by nature for 
deeds of energy and vitality, takes 
up the plow, the hammer, or the 
grinding-stone, to gain his very 
livelihood. He whose wisdom 
and policy might have swayed a 
republic, is seen spending his life 
in a country school-house, where 
some hundred little boys gaze in 
awe at his authoritative mien, or 
repeat by rote his oracular les- 

Such men have our sympathy. 
Happy for them if they have sub- 
mitted with resignation to their 
fate! In the day of recompense, 
their joy will be great indeed. 

But mark well. For the most 
part, men are not content to re- 
main thus fallen or hidden in the 
deep. A glance at the world, and 
you will see it. Behold the mani- 
fold strife between man and man ; 
the war of the classes ; the dis- 
contented clerks ; the bankrupt's 
agony ; the deep chagrin of the 
ruined society man ; the envy and 
hatred which underlie the em- 
brace of friendship ! 

In business, cupidity and avar- 
ice; in professional life, mental 
strain and fruitless rivalry ; in the 
army, jealousy and false patron- 
age ; in the navy, writhing under 
constrained submission. Every 
force in nature tends to show that 
no being will ever rest quiet until 
it occupies the place intended for 
it by Divine Providence. 

History shows how even a 
Rothschild, in anguish over a lost 
cause, terminated his own exist- 
ence by suicide ; and an Arnold, 

once filled with the ardor of pa- 
triotism, overwhelmed in disap- 
pointment, took up the traitor's 
sword in spite and savagery. 

Yet the world has not perished. 
Some individuals occupy their 
true place and position. There 
are honest men ; there are honest 
governments at all times. Wit- 
ness Godfrey de Bouillon, Sir 
Thomas More, Donoso Cortes, 
Charles Carroll of Carrollton, 
Geo. Washington, Garcia Moreno. 
These are but a few golden names. 

Men like these have justly been 
called "the marrow of this world." 
In every age we possess them. 
In every clime they are near us. 
In all that is kind and true on 
earth, we feel their influence. 

Happiest of all men are they, 
the precious few whom the Al- 
mighty thus chooses from out the 
multitude; blest indeed they who 
thus raise mankind above the 
trammels of evil to the noble and 
the true. 

In choosing your profession, 
therefore, choose above all to be 
among those men who live and 
die for the common weal. Be not 
among the rabble. 

But on the other hand, do not 
soar too high. They who have 
reached a position above their ca- 
pacity, commonly have recourse 
to fraud, deceit, and cowardice, 
in order to sustain appearances. 
They, again, who have chosen 
too low a place, become easily 
discontented and dissatisfied. Out 
of tune with their companions, 
they soon desire to rise to a higher 
state, and, in that desire become 


sowers of sedition and promoters 
of discord. 

Your happiness depends on 
your choice. If you choose with 
due consideration and a lofty in- 
tention, however, you can never 
repent your choice. 

In this connection, it will be 
well to recall these few salutary 
words, taken from Washington's 
Inaugural Address : 

"There is no truth more thor- 
oughly established, than that there 

exists in the course of nature, an 
indissoluble union between virtue 
and happiness, between duty and 
advantage, between an honest, 
magnanimous policy, and the solid 
rewards of prosperity and felicity; 
and we ought to be persuaded 
that the propitious smiles of Hea- 
ven can never be expected on him 
that disregards the eternal rules 
of order and right, which Heaven 
itself has ordained." 

F. Solis, '00. 


The young man, having con- 
ceived the importance of making 
a proper choice, sits himself down 
to accomplish his all-important 
task. When he has closed every 
door and window around him, and 
feels that he is all alone, he buries 
his face in his hands, and deliber- 
ately endeavors to think. Like 
Hamlet, he weighs the arguments 
pro and con in the balance. 

Money, honor, fame, virtue, are 
placed in one scale ; work, trouble, 
sorrow, difficulties, in the other. 
The beam of the balance is made 
long and light by subtle distinc- 
tions, so that the stronger side 
may be made clear and evident. 
The heavy weight of deep consid- 
eration is added to either scale to 
help on the result. Yet the bal- 
ance will not be quiet. It wavers 
still. Now virtue, now honor, 
now difficulties, now success, and 
now despair, wins the day. 

The whole world — men and 
women, princes and people, 
priests and laymen— pass before 
his soul's vision. First appear a 

host of clergymen led by Gibbons, 
the American Cardinal, and De 
Ravignan, the preacher of Notre 
Da mo. 

"A clergyman ! Ha ! I have 
it! What a noble, sublime life! 
What a grand, intellectual life, 
with the assured respect of other 
men! I shall be another Gibbons, 
or a De Ravignan. I shall mingle 
with the great statesmen, and 
be the idol of patriots and relig- 
ious men. 

"Yet, what am I choosing? To 
leave home and loved ones in 
order to preach the word of God? 
To keep aloof from so many sweet 
pleasures? And then, to take 
vows; to be subject to a bishop; 
to come at the call of every ugly, 
diseased, dying penitent, and 
perhaps catch his disease, small- 
pox or yellow fever ! To risk 
your life at the call of charity. 
No, No ! " 

Another vision passes before 
his soul. It is the vision of a 
host of lawyers and attorneys, 
standing in learned array on the 



right-hand balance. Surely this 
time all is decided. 

"I will be another Oonklin or 
an Erskine ! " he cries. And his 
fist naturally strikes the table with 
the firmness of his decision. 
"Wasn't Liguori a lawyer and a 
saint too! Ha ! to stand so learn- 
edly before a court and jury, and 
after the contest to pocket $50,000. 
How grand! " 

He seems to be thoroughly de- 
cided to become a lawyer, when 
the opposite side of the question 
confronts him. 

"Stay! The number of lawyers 
is well-nigh infinite. Many have 
already given up law, and taken 
to the counter. I know several 
who have thrown it aside in dis- 
gust. What a tedious profession, 
to sit at your desk all day, waiting 
for a case, thinking, racking your 
brains, searching in books and, 
after staying up till midnight for 
three weeks, until you have no 
eyesight left, to — perhaps — lose 
your case anyhow, and reputation 
also. No, no ! No law for me. 
Let me see what else I can do 1 " 

The young man conjures up to 
his soul an array of doctors and 
surgeons, the best in the medical 

"Oh! What a grand calling! 
To do good to your fellow-men, 
to have men, even the greatest, 
depending on you for their very 
lives! The noble art of healing — 
the study of the human frame, how 
interesting! Then, as for the lu- 
crative part, one dollar for a poor 
man, five to twenty-five for a rich 
man, is not so bad. I have a good 

arm, too, for surgery. Why, a 
doctor, of course — I was simply 
born for it. 

"But stop! What am I thinking 
about? Doctors! There are three 
on every square. Some of them 
must be starving. Besides, even 
the best of them, how like butch- 
ers they do cut a poor fellow to 
pieces ! Then, like priests, you 
have to mingle with all kinds of 
people, the ugliest, the sickliest, 
the ulcered, and the fetid. And 
you run the risk of catching the 
diseases yourself, or of losing 
your patient. In either case, 
there's no such thing as reputa- 
tion for a doctor. I'll not be a 
doctor. Let me think of some- 
thing else." 

He pictures himself in a Chicago 
or New York convention. 

"By Jove, there's nothing like 
politics ! You cannot be a great 
man without politics. Y"our 
chances to glory and greatness are 
infinite. You keep rising higher 
and higher until you finally be- 
come a governor or perhaps 

Haven't I heard how old Abe 
Lincoln climbed on rails to the 
White House ? Didn't Andrew 
Jackson, the plebeian after he got 
to be President extinguish the ar- 
guments of a whole Congress with 
his sound American common 
sense 1 There's a chance for ev- 
erybody. It's a glorious avoca- 
tion. I'm a good speaker too, — 
took a gold medal for elocution. 
Have managed a Base-ball Club 
already. Why couldn't 1 manage 
a senate ? I have a better educa- 



tion than most oi these politicians In business, as in polities, a bright 

you read about. 

"But stay! What's the use? 
Everything is mere chance in 
politics. Pshaw! I ought to learn 
an example from my own father. 
Didn't he run for sheriff in his 
own town? Didn't he make 
speeches too? And throw money 
around like pebbles, until he found 
himself $10,000 out? Then came 
the crash — ruin ! 

How foolish for a man to go 
risking his fortune in politics ! 
You might be the best man in the 
world and not be elected. You 
cannot trust a friend in politics. 
Perpetual ^watchfulness. Perpet- 
ual excitement. Perpetual sleep- 
lessness. A mere slip of the 
tongue, in all your anxiety, and 
you are a lost man. It looks as 
if a man even after he is in office, 
is in most terrible trouble and 
perturbation of mind. In fact, he 
must be almost frantic with the 
continual visits of excited, fren- 
zied, crazy office-seekers, secreta- 
ries, lawyers, and cranks of every 

"Well," says the young man to 
himself, "perhaps I had better 
turn to business." Here again as 
might be expected, he sees a host 
of advantages and disadvantages. 

side and a dark side. He pictures 
the grocer, the farmer, the up- 
holsterer, the livery-man, the hotel- 
keeper. In these and in all their 
duties, there is action and reaction, 
good and bad, black and white, 
joy and pain, success and disaster. 

At last the young man, driven 
almost frantic like the politician 
he had been contemplating, wishes 
that he had not thought so much 
but rather had come to a decision. 
He begins to believe that the hap- 
piest men are they who have 
somebody else to command and 
direct them. 

But this does not settle his dif- 
ficulties ; he has to choose. 

Finally he gets a clue to the 
solution. He must find some 
method by which he can choose 
aright, a method such that, choos- 
ing in accordance with it, he shall 
not repent of his choice later on. 

Can such a method be found? 
Surely the All-wise Providence, 
which has given us the power to 
choose, has also given us some 
method by which we may choose 
properly. Else, why should we 
ever possess that faculty? This 
method we leave to another to 

Samuel H. Apperious, 00. 


Every man, some time or other, 
is confronted with the problem, 
"What can I do? What may I do? 
What ought I to do?" 

A few men, with something like 
instinct, learn what they are born 
for, apply themselves to it, and 

succeed. These men generally 
have a kind father or a guardian, 
who watches them step by step, 
through every inclination, and, 
seeing what the child is fitted for, 
places in his very path all that 
will attract him to his proper end. 



Only one disadvantage may ac- 
crue from this special care and 
guardianship. The child may 
grow up so limited and narrowed 
in his views of life and men, that 
he can only see, think, and work 
that which comes in the sphere of 
his own little trade. He will 
know more than others in some 
particular line of study ; he will 
know less than others of those 
general branches of science, hu- 
man and divine, to which the hu- 
man race, as a body, tends. 

In the United States a young 
man usually has a great deal of 
freedom in the choice of a state. 
By nature, the young American is 
"up-to-date" and is soon ahead 
of any inactive parent or tutor. 
He seems to be born to choose for 
himself. Is there any method to 
guide him? 

In the first place our choice 
must be made according to our 
natural inclinations, guided by 
right reason. Our lives were not 
intended to consist in the drawing 
of the drudge by day and the 
dreaming of the drudge by night. 
"My yoke is sweet and my burden 
light," is the very expression of 
that Providence which would 
have all men content and happy 
in their lot. 

Even in the midst of trying 
duties and undying labor, our 
lives ought to be a foretaste of 
that heaven where the love of 
God and the accomplishment of 
His will are the essence of true 
joy. Otherwise, how should we 
learn to look up to heaven at all? 
Since it is only from the visible, 

tangible, tiansient, earthly joys, 
that we can by abstraction, con- 
ceive some idea of the invisible, 
incomprehensible, infinite joys of 
the world to come. 

On the one hand, therefore, a 
man cannot but choose a state in 
which he will find satisfaction and 

On the other hand, it must be 
remembered that this pleasure or 
satisfaction is a mere accidental, 
a mere accompaniment. 

Hence, in choosing what is right, 
the satisfaction and pleasure must 
be carefully distinguished from 
the duty and profession itself, 
though one should accompany the 
other as the shadow accompanies 
the man. 

"How can I do this? How can 
I distinguish V 

God has given man a method by 
which he can reasonably, ration- 
ally, and perfectly distinguish and 
choose, yea, choose in such a way 
that neither God nor man will be 
able to reproach him for his 
choice. The method stands in the 
very nature of man. 

Man's duties may all be summed 
up in three: his duty to God, to 
his neighbor, and to himself. 

As these three comprise his re- 
lations and duties throughout his 
future career, so, in this great 
choice of an avocation, which is 
the conception and embryo of his 
future life, these same three fac- 
tors must be the movers and 
moulders of his will. 

God, we said, his neighbor, and 

First, then, as regards God. 



Nothing so exalts a man, in the 
moment of his choice, as the rais- 
ing of bis mind to Him who has a 
care over all of us. The best of 
men have confessed the advan- 
tage and importance of this ele- 
vation of soul. The worst of men, 
in extreme necessity, have had re- 
course to it. Even lukewarm and 
* indifferent men, who are neither 
hot nor cold, will at least admit 
that there is nothing to lose by 
asking the help of God. The fool 
alone, accordiug to King David, 
"hath said in his heart there is no 

If goodness is the essence 
of the Divinity, that Being surely 
looks down with solicitude on 
those human intellects and wills 
which are the mirrors of His own 
Divine intelligence. "Thou lovest 
ail things that are." This assur- 
ance alone on His part, ought 
to make us turn to Him for aid 
and protection. 

But if we consult ourselves, our 
own weakness, our own absolute 
need of help and assistance from 
above, our very instinct will impel 
us, in times of great moment when 
the mind is troubled and dis- 
turbed, to turn, heart and soul, to 
Him whose mercy, at the cry of 
perishing men, calmed the waves 
of the sea, and whose "follow me" 
made the seamen of Galilee lay 
down their nets to become the im- 
mortal fishers of men. 

Besides, nothing so clears the 
intellect, so relieves the mind 
in anguish, so elevates it above 
the strife and agitation of the 
world, as the raising of it, with 

perfect confidence, to Him, in 
whose hands is the destiny of man. 

Secondly, as regards our neigh- 

Man is a sociable animal. Man 
depends upon his fellow-man. Not 
merely for food, clothing, and hab- 
itation, but even for counsel, joy 
and happiness, no man stands 
alone, but all need the assistance 
of a neighbor. 

Although every young man has 
not a parent or appointed guardian 
to watch over him, yet every one 
ought to have and must have, 
somewhere or other, a friend. By 
a friend, I do not mean merely a 
companion, a playmate, one who 
amuses us and raises our good 
spirits with his alacrity and hu- 
mor. By friend I mean one, who, 
first of all, fulfils the old adage, 
"a friend in need, is a friend in- 

A true friend has a devoted in- 
terest in our welfare. To a friend 
we can confide a secret. To a 
friend we can manifest our weak- 
ness. To him we can look for 
support. He will gently reprove 
us in charity. He will not betray 
us in our absence. 

He must, however, in the pres- 
ent emergency, be a man of ex- 
perience, a high-minded man ; but 
above all, a man who thinks of 
our eternal welfare, who is de- 
lighted rather with true virtue 
and noble motives than with our 
tramitory success. 

Gold, silver, honor, glory, all 
the earth and the fullness thereof, 
are not to be compared with the 
boon of a friend. Let us not con- 



sider lightly his advice and good 
counsel. Next to God and con- 
science, he should be our guide. 
The saying goes, "no man is a 
judge in his own cause." It is 
particularly applicable to hose 
souls that are in fear and pertur- 
bation. Others often see a matter 
that concerns us most vitally bet- 
ter than we see it ourselves. 

"Oh wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us !" 

Thirdly, as regards our own 

It cannot be denied that a man, 
after considering God and his 
neighbor, must still use his own 
judgment. Let ussuppose God to 
inspire him. Grant that his 
friends have counselled him. His 
own instinct and judgment remain 
to be impressed with those bene- 

A friendly lawyer may advise 
one policy. A friendly physician 
another. Common sense may 
suggest a third. Religious zeal a 
fourth. Any one of these may be 
good; auy one may be excessive; 
any one may be wrong. A man 
must use his own judgment and 
discrimination. Hence it is al- 

ways true that, when a man 
chooses, it is his free will that acts: 
it is himself that chooses, not his 
friends, not God, not any exterior 

How shall a man use his own 
judgment? After consultation 
with others, he must consider his 
own talents, his own experiences, 
his o p n inclinations, his own 
moral courage and physical en- 
durance, his own pains and pleas- 
ures, his own secret desires, yea, 
all that which, in his heart of 
hearts, he can say, is "mine and 
mine alone." 

Having consulted maturely 
these three, God, his neighbor, 
and himself, nothing more can be 
expected of him, nothing more 
can be demanded of him. He may 
now choose without fear. 

Having thus chosen, in God's 
name and with the good counsel 
of better men, let the young man, 
without fear of reproach from God 
or man, with interior peace of 
mind and heart, fully armed and 
fully equipped for the great battle 
before him, advance with confi- 
dence, manfully and boldly to the 

Jules M. Burgtjieres, '00. 


Heu fugis, exilioque tuos, O Christe, relinquis, 
Hostis ubi furit et bella cruenta premunt. 

— Ascendo, ut regno potiar quod morte reclusi, 
Ut vos sustineam, ut praemia digna parem. 


(Father Ryan once said of himself that he "often cried in strange regret ;" 
and in truth the most of his songs are in a mournful measure. The following lines, 
however, addressed to a lady friend, are in a joyful, — rather a playful — vein. 
They were composed on the occasion of a visit which the Poet paid to her house, 
and during which he was very much annoyed by her frisky and talkative offspring. 
He gave vent to his disturbed state of feelings in the charming but simple words 
of the poem. It is entitled " Rosa," the Christian name of the lady through 
whose courtesy we now for the first time publish these stray lines from our 
beloved Poet-Priest's pen.) 

A Rose, 'tis said, has thorns, 
This Rose has many such ; 
I know this Rose has four 
That sting her very much. 

Two boys and two strange girls, 
That are four thorns I vow ; 
They ought to be four pearls 
To deck their mother's brow. 

'Tis hard to read them right, 
For when you think you know, 
You find you're not quite right; 
I find myself just so. 

The boys 1 understand ; 
The girls, ah me ! 'tis strange — 
Now angry, and now bland, 
From day to day they change. 

Yet often all such thorns 
But sweeten more the Rose ; 
In evenings and in morns, — 
Just here the Poet goes, 



ON the 28th of February last, 
about dusk of a chill wintry 
evening, a funeral train wended 
its way by torch-light to the quiet 
little cemetery of Spring Hill Col- 
lege. Beneath the swaying pines 
that murmur a perpetual requiem, 
they gently laid to rest the mortal 
remains of the venerated Father 
John James Duffo, S. J., who had 
died at Selma, Ala., on the day 

Father Duffo was well known to 
most of our readers, as his work 
in the sacred ministry during the 
past fifty years, notably during 
the yellow fever epidemics which 
have at times visited various por- 
tions of the South, brought him 
prominently before the eyes of 
men, and proved him to be an 
Apostle worthy of his high voca- 

Father Duffo was born near 
Lou des, in the department of the 
Hautes Pyrenees, France, Novem- 
ber 18th, 1826. He was reared in 
an atmosphere of religion by a 
good and pious mother, and early 
manifested a desire to embrace 
the priestly life. 

On the 23rd of November, 1841, 
after completing his college educa- 
tion, filled with the noble ambi- 
tion of devoting his life to the 
glory of God and the salvation of 
souls, the young Levite left a 
happy home to enter the Novitiate 
of the Society of Jesus at 

About four years later, while 
pursuing a course of higher 

studies at Vals, Father Duffo 
heard ot the pressing demand for 
missionaries in America and gen- 
erously bade farewell to his native 
land to labor in the new field. In 
1847 he arrived at Spring Hill 
College, and on February 6th of 
the following year was raised to the 
dignity of the priesthood by the 
saintly Bishop Portier of Mobile. 
For the next half-century he de- 
voted himself to the duty of saving 
and succoring souls in the South- 
land, New Orleans being his head- 
quarters and longest place of resi- 
dence during this period. 

It was in 1853, during the yel- 
low fever epidemic which caused 
such wide-spread havoc, that 
Father Duffo's real life work be- 
gan. There were only three 
Jesuit fathers in New Orleans in 
those days; Father Jourdan, de- 
ceased, the venerable Father 
Curioz, who though in his eighty- 
fourth year is still an active mem- 
ber of the Order, and the zealous 
and indefatigable Father Duffo. 

Out of a population- of 50,000 
souls, some 15,000 were swept 
away in a few weeks by the fearful 
scourge that ravaged the city. 
There were not Catholic priests 
enough in New Orleans to minis- 
ter to the sick and dying, as nearly 
all of those that were in the city 
were down with the plague. 
Father Curioz and Father Joirdan 
were stricken, and the mission of 
visiting the sick devolved upon 
Father Duffo alone. It was then 
that he becam : the true Christian 



hero ; his figure could be seen 
everywhere — in the mansions of 
the rich, in the hovels of the poor, 
comforting the sick and destitute, 
whispering words of hope and 
consolation to the dying, and 
burying the dead. For six weeks 
he ministered alone to the sick of 
the city, from Felicity street to 
Esplanade. Night and day he 

might be fed. When the clouds 
of sorrow that hovered for five 
months over the city passed away, 
the records of New Orleans held 
no brighter name than that of 
Father Duffo. 

After this, the noble hero in the 
cause of charity was engaged in 
thirteen different epidemics, and 
his name is held in sacred venera- 


was at his post of duty, eating 
when he could, and sleeping when 
the opportunity offered on a small 
cot at the entrance of the Jesuits' 
Hall, where he could always be 
within the sound of the voice of 
woe. His charity knew no limits 
of creed or race, but lie went 
about soliciting aid for all in want 
and depriving himself that others 

tion by the peple of Natchitoches, 
Shreveport, Vicksburg, Natchez, 
and especially New Orleans, and 
wherever he exercised his sacred 
calling. As an apostle of the 
plague-stricken, his fame reached 
the furthest bounds of the land. 
No later than 1888, when he had 
passed his sixtieth year, he volun- 
teered to take care of the fever 



victims of Jacksonville, Fla. This 
was the last epidemic which he 
braved for his suffering fellow- 

Keenly alive to all the crying 
needs of humanity, Father Duffo, 
at various periods of his eventful 
career, labored in another apostle- 
ship somewhat different from the 
former. For many years he at- 
tended condemned criminals in 
their last hours of imprisonment 
and also on the scaffold. His 
wonderful experiences in that line 
have been published in a pamph- 
let entitled, "Miracles of Divine 

In November, 1891, Father 
Duffo, while stationed in the Cres- 
cent City, celebrated the fiftieth 
anniversary of his entrance into 
the Jesuit Order. The occasion 
was one of unusual solemnity and 
interest, Father Duffo's long resi- 
dence in New Orleans having en- 
deared him to hundreds of fami- 
lies. On that day the aged ser- 
vant in the Master's vineyard 
paused to review his work, and 
bid his friends come and chant 
with him the "Te Deurn" of thanks- 

On that day he received tele- 
grams of congratulations from two 
eminent members of the Catholic 
hierarchy. One was from Cardi- 
nal Gibbons, who spent his early 
years in New Orleans. Father 
Duffo had been the spiritual advi- 
ser of this youth, who was des- 

tined to exert such an influence 
for good in the Catholic church in 
America, and receive such honors 
as had come to but one Ameri- 
can prelate before him. It was 
Father Duffo who advised Cardi- 
nal Gibbons to study for the min- 
istry, and affectionate ties bound 
the great churchman of later years 
and the old priest in Baronne 
street. The other was from Right 
Rev. Bishop Durier, of Natchi- 

Two years ago in November r 
1897, Father Duffo celebrated the 
fiftieth anniversary of his ordina- 
tion, a day that comes to few 
priests, especially Jesuits, by rea- 
son of the long years of study and 
preparation that they must make 
before receiving the crowning 
blessing of their efforts. 

Shortly after the jubilee, Father 
Duffo was sent to Selma, Ala., to 
assist in parish work. He had 
not been there long when the final 
summons came. The zealous and 
self-sacrificing priest, whose mot- 
to had always been, "God and my 
fellow men," cheerfully welcomed 
death as a veritable release from 
mortal ills and the beginning of 
the truer and higher life. 

The name of Father Duffo is de- 
serving of a place side by side 
with that of the Apostle of Molo- 
kai, among the real and heroic 
benefactors of mankind, the 
world's philanthropists in deed 
and not in word. 

Edward B. Dreaper, '02. 


THERE is a certain solemn in- 
terest surrounding the death- 
hour of a world-famed hero, which 
attaches to no other event of his 
remarkable career. Though we 
may be carried away with enthu- 
siastic admiration as we behold 
him bravely fighting life's perilous 
battles, yet we are not contented 
unless we are able to follow and 
watch him in his final great strug- 
gle. Only then do we feel capa- 
ble of pronouncing upon his claim 
to a rank among glory's immortal 

For in that awful moment, 
should our admired one be of true 
metal, his nobility and worth will 
shine forth with redoubled splen- 
dor; while should he be great but 
in name, his real smallness and 
weakness and cowardice will not 
fail to manifest themselves to the 
world. Victorious in many a vig- 
orous assault, he is shamefully 
conquered in the last stubborn, 
all-important charge. 

A hero in life, a hero in death, — 
such was Pierre du Terrail de 
Bayard, one of the grandest, the 
most stainless ornaments of 
France's peerless chivalry. A 
loyal subject, a faithful friend, a 
generous enemy, an ever staunch, 
unwavering Christian, he was the 
very paragon of knightly virtue 
and military honor. In truth, so 
many and such transcendent quali- 
ties of mind and heart and body 
were centered in him that, unless 
we possessed the unanimous testi- 
mony of contemporary historians, 
we should be inclined to look upon 

him as one of those creations of 
poetic fancy so often met with in 
the legendary lore of Europe. 

Beginning life as a page in the 
household of the governor of Dau- 
phiny, in which province he was 
born in 1476, the young knight 
first came into prominence during 
the reign of Charles VII. This 
prince he accompanied on his ex- 
pedition against and conquest of 
the kingdom of Naples, in which 
Bayard signalized himself, espe- 
cially at the battle of Fournoue 
Later, under Louis XII., he ren- 
dered invaluable services to his 
country at the capture of Milan. 
In one engagement which took 
place near Naples in 1501, like 
another Horatius Codes, alone he 
stoutly held a narrow bridge 
against the combiued efforts of 
two hundred knights. 

When the gallant Francis I. as- 
cended the French throne, he at 
once recognized the sterling worth 
of the noble Dauphiny warrior 
and did not fail to profit by his 
military skill and bravery. In an 
encounter at Marignau about 1514, 
during the campaign against 
Charles V. of Spain, Bayard per- 
formed prodigies of valor that 
elicited the whole-souled admira- 
tion of friend and foe alike. So 
much impressed was his sovereign 
by his lion like courage, that, ac- 
cording to an ancient custom in 
chivalry, he had himself knighted 
by his dauntless subject in open 
field. Bayard modestly conferred 
the golden spurs on the king of 



Some time after this occurrence, 
the dauntless knight was defend- 
ing the town of Mezieres against 
great odds with but scanty hopes 
of holding out successfully. He 
was advised by Francis to set fire 
to and evacuate the place which 
was in no condition to sustain 
a siege. He strenuously opposed 
this course of action, making an- 
swer in these sublime words, full 
worthy of a hero: "No position 
can be called weak which has 
true-hearted men to defend it." 

Charles V. and his armies found 
no more obstinate opponent than 
Bayard. His sword was always 
unsheathed, always gleaming in 
his country's cause. Throughout 
the land he was admired for his 
patriotic valor ; and, during a visit 
to Paris he was publicly and sol- 
emnly greeted as the Liberator of 
France. Charged to put down an 
insurrection at Genes, he appeared 
with a body of soldiery before the 
city gates ; but as soon as the in- 
habitants discovered who was de- 
manding their surrender, they laid 
downtheirarms without resistance 
and submitted to the royal author- 
ity. Upon his return he took pos- 
session of Lodi for his sovereign. 

Soon, however, the fortunes of 
the thus far victorious French 
army will shift and change, and 
our heroic Bayard will meet with 
reverses. But as he was ever 
courageous in the glad hour of 
triumph, he will not prove a pol- 
troon in the bitter moment of de- 
feat. His valor will gleam with a 
brighter lustre through the dun 
shadows of calamity. 

Admiral Bonnivet, about 1523, 
by ill-concerted plans had caused 
the repulse of the troops near 
Milan. Having been seriously 
wounded in the retreat, he made 
over the chief command to Bay- 
ard, who, as he accepted the ardu- 
ous charge, remarked, " It is 
rather late — but it matters not ; 
my soul belongs to God, my life 
to my country. I will save the 
army, or pour out my heart's blood 
in the attempt." 

He had to cross the river Sesia 
in the face of a far superior force 
of Spaniards. Always the last in 
retreat, he gallops fearlessly along 
from rank to rank to cheer his 
men with his burning words. En- 
couraged by his noble speech and 
still nobler example, they perform 
marvellous deeds of daring and for 
a time seem to be carrying theday. 

In the midst of the fighting, 
Bayard suddenly halts, his hands 
fall helpless to his side, he gasps 
with intense pain. He has been 
struck by a stone hurled from an 
arquebuse. Tearing through his 
right side, the death-bearing mis- 
sile has fractured his spinal col- 
umn. "Jesus! my God, my last 
hour is nigh!" exclaims the dis- 
abled hero, looking heavenward. 

Straightway his followers gather 
about him and aid him to dis- 
mount and upbuckle his armor. 
They lean him against a tree and 
discover with intensest grief that 
the wound is fatal. With his 
dying breath he still animates his 
men to the fierce combat. 

"Soldiers of France," he says, 
"Weep not; bow not those heads 



inured to hardships and to battle's 
dreadful strife. Mourn not when 
you see a warrior meet a warrior's 
death. At peace with God, in the 
service of my king and country, I 
die contented. My gallant knights, 
Bayard was nevei known to turn 
his back upon a foe ; move me, 
then, and once more let me face 
those whom I should be fighting. 
Ah! they come! — to horse, my 
braves! up with my standard! 
charge! let them know that even 
while dying Pierre du Terrail 
fears them not." 

He then watches the hard-con- 
tested battle ; but feeling that his 
moments are numbered, he hastens 
to prepare himself for the tribunal 
of final reckoning. Unable to 
secure an emblem of man's Re- 
demption, he kisses the crossed 
hilt of his sword to show his rev- 
erential trust in the Saviour. No 
shriving priest of God is nigh, so 
the dying Christian confesses to 
God in the hearing of his faithful 
squire. Then interrupting his 
ardent prayers, he turns to him 
and gives him a last message to 
his sovereign : 

"Tell my king I die as I have 
lived, pure in soul, stainless in 
honor, loyal to the last!" 

The enemy, now become mas- 
ters of the battlefield, approach 
the expiring Bayard and shed 
tears of sorrow and admiration 
over him. The Constable of Bour- 
bon, formerly a companion in 
arms, now a black-hearted traitor, 
stepping near, exclaims : " How 
I pity thee, Monsieur de Bayard; 

thee the gallant defender of 
France cruelly cut off in the midst 
of thy triumphs !" " Pity not me," 
answers the fallen hero, " who 
am giving up my life in the cause 
of loyalty. Rather pity thyself, 
Monsieur de Bourbon, who art 
basely fighting against thy king, 
thy country and thy oath!" 

A few minutes later, with his 
heart uplifted to heaven and his 
hands devoutly clasped in prayer, 
the valiant warrior closed his eyes 
in the never-ending sleep of death. 
He had reached his forty-seventh 
year. His body was tenderly 
cared for by his enemies, who em- 
balmed it, and in the midst of 
great solemnity, had it transported 
to Grenoble. 

Thus perished Bayard, the model 
knight and man of faith, one of 
the few noted personages of his 
day whom we can praise in un- 
stinted and unqualified terms. Of 
unimpeachable honesty, frank, 
modest, generous and pious, he 
also possessed all the heroic quali- 
ties which distinguish a finished 
soldier. With him religion was 
no empty name nor changeable 
fashion; it was a sacred principle, 
a fixed code of life, a binding link 
with the Creator. Persuaded that 
bravery, when unguided by the 
light of faith, was but a blind ani- 
mal fury, he was ever firmly at- 
tached to the church and addicted 
to its practices. Well indeed did 
he merit the grand title conferred 
upon him by his contemporaries: 
'•The Knight without fear and 
w.thout reproach. " 

C. Andre Lelong, '01. 


U^TES, SAH, Mars' Bob, dat 
JL 'ere house em sho' haunt- 
ed !— 

"You kin shake yo' haid, Mars' 
Bob, but it's a fak. You know 
Uncle Seffle who play dat 'ere fid- 
dle fo' de white folks to dance 
by f — Well de odder night w'en he 
wus passin' de ole 'Hall' place, he 
begin to feel kind uh ticklish. On 
all a sudden what do he heah but 
de rattlin' of a chain, an' de slam- 
min' of a do'; and den he seed suf- 
fin' white at de window! 

"No 'mount uh money could git 
dis heah cullud pusson near dat 
'ere house; kase Ifigger dis er way: 
if dem 'ere ghostis don't bodder 
me, I aint gwine to bodder dem." 
I could not help but laugh at 
this ghostly effusion of George 
Washington Ackerson — better 
known as Uncle George. The 
house to which he referred was an 
old, dilapidated frame building 
that stood opposite our place. It 
was once the servants' quarters of 
the grand old country mansion 
that had been claimed, long ago, 
by the destructive hand of fire. 
In this house was enacted a trage- 
dy, the details of which were rela- 
ted to me by my father, many 
years before. 

"When I came to this neighbor- 
hood from New England," said he, 
"and set up as a physician, that 
house was owned and occupied by 
a Mr. Hall. He was an old bache- 
lor, and was reputed very ricli 
though miserly. 

"Qften, when passing, I would 

see him walking among the shady 
paths of his garden, or seated pen- 
sive on a rustic bench. At times 
he was accompanied by a young 
girl with the most bewitching face 
I have ever seen. Upon inquiry, 
I found that she was an Ethelind 
Freeman, who had been hired by 
old Hall to attend him in his fee- 

"Shortly afterwards, Cecil New- 
combe, a nephew and dependent 
of the rich bachelor, came home,— 
a graduate of a famous law school. 
A finer looking young man could 
not well be found. Tall, well 
built and singularly handsome, 
there beamed from his dark, lus- 
trous eye a brightness that beto- 
kened the richness of his mental 
gifts. He was the heir apparent 
to all his uncle's possessions, and 
in fine, saw before him the fairest 
prospects. Not long after his 
arrival, I heard that Ethelind 
Freeman had lost her position. 

"Well, one day I was summoned 
on a sick-call, away out in the 
country. On my return, I was 
overtaken by a terrific storm. 
With the blinding lightning, the 
deafening thunder, the howling 
wind, the pelting rain, the inky 
darkness, and the extreme late- 
ness of the hour, right glad was I 
when finally I heard my horse's 
hoofs clattering on the paved 
street that led past the Hall prop- 
erty to my own snug house. Just 
as I got opposite the 'Mansion,' a 
vivid flash of lightning rent the 
black vault above, flooding, with 



its dazzling- splendor, the sur- 
rounding country. At the mo. 
ment my eyes were directed to- 
wards the Hall house. That one 
fLish revealed to me a man de- 
scending a ladder which rested 
against the sill of an upper win. 
dow. At the same instant a tile 
fell from the roof and struck the 
man on the head, causing him to 
stagger to the ground. 'Some 
poor servant securing a blind,' I 
mused, as I turned my horse's 
head into our lane. 

"The next day the neighbor- 
hood was horrified at hearing that 
Mr. Hall was found dead in bed 
with his skull crushed ! Not a 
clue to the murderer! Old Hall 
had retired about nine o'clock. 
The door of his room was found 
locked on the inside, the window 
blinds were closed, but the sash 
was up. The perpetrator of the 
dreadful crime had entered, then? 
from the outside. Yes, for lying 
on the lawn, a short distance off, 
was found a ladder. 

"'Who could the murderer beP 
passed from mouth to mouth. 

"Finally, suspicion fell strong 
upon Cecil Newcombe, and in de- 
fault of bail, he was committed to 

"It dawned upon me, at first in- 
telligence of the bloody deed, that 
the man whom I had perceived by 
that lightning flash on the ladder, 
was not the securer of window 
blinds, but old Hall's murderer. 
Besides, I had seen enough, in 
that short time, to be positive 
that it was not Cecil Newcombe 
on whom the tile fell. So con- 

vinced was I of the young man's 
innocence, that I offered myself as 
a witness in his trial. 

"When put upon the stand, un- 
der oath, I told the court exactly 
what I had seen that eventful 
night. How could a man, I asked, 
who was felled to the ground by a 
tile dropping on his head, appear 
the next day uninjured and with 
not even a hair ruffled ? 

"Nevertheless, evidence was 
sadly against poor Cecil. It was 
proved that he and the old gentle- 
man had had quarrels of late ; that 
among other things Cecil had de- 
clared to his uncle his love for 
Ethelind, and his intention of 
marrying her ; that in angry man- 
ner, the cross-grained old bachelor 
had disapproved of his nephew's 
intention, avowing with an oath 
that, did he take such a step, he 
would disinherit him. 

"This only served to draw from 
Cecil a protest that not for all the 
money in the world would he give 
up Ethelind. 

" ' Leave the room !' thundered 
his irate kinsman. This was just 
at the time he had dismissed 
Ethelind from his service. 

"All the witnesses had been ex- 
amined, to the no small discomfi- 
ture, be it said, of unfortunate 
Cecil. The trial proper was at an 
end, and the jury were leaving the 
court-room to prepare their ver- 
dict when, turning towards the 
excited crowd that thronged the 
room, my eyes chanced to fall upon 
a man of dark, crafty features. 
His head was bared, and, lurking 
beneath his neath combed hair, I 



noticed a piece of plaster that 
seemed to cover a wound in his 

"As he met my gaze, his eye fell, 
and as I continued gazing he be- 
came disturbed, shuffled back and 
in quiet haste made for the door. 
In a flash my resolution was 

"' Stop that man' I cried, 'he's 
the murderer!' 

" The self-convicted villain bolt- 
ed out of the door but was speed- 
ily caught and led back into the 

"Being intimidated, the wretch 
confessed that he had slain old 

" ' I entered his room by a lad- 
der,' he said, 'with the intention of 
robbing him. But I stumbled over 
a chair, while searching for his 
purse, and woke him. Mr. Hall 
sat up in bed and asked who was 

there, and in answer I hit him 
over the head with a club.' 

Needless to add, Cecil New- 
combe was now set free ; and 
shortly afterwards he carried out 
his purpose in regard to Ethelind 

"Since the departed uncle had 
not as yet made the threatened 
change in his will, Cecil became 
sole heir to his vast fortune, and 
soon moved from the neighbor- 
hood to the West. 

"The 'Mansion' was never after- 
wards occupied, and, gradually 
falling into ruin, it got the name 
among the negroes of being 
k ha'nted.' In after years it was 
struck by lightning, and later 
burnt to the ground ; but its 
ghostly connections were trans- 
ferred, by the superstitious col- 
ored folk, to the decaying ser- 
vants' quarters." 

P. S. Cowley, '03. 


(A few extracts from letters written while on a Cycling Tour last summer.) 

T.TE have now spent several 
■r^fc weeks in England, — long 
enough to become infatuated with 
this " tight little island." 


Yesterday we journeyed to 
Woodstock to see the Palace of 
the Duke of Marlborough. It is a 
beautiful place, with extensive 
grounds, and of interest to all 

travellers, as it was presented by 
England to the first, the great 
Duke of Marlborough. Ameri- 
cans have a peculiar interest in 
Blenheim Palace, for an American 
lady, Consuelo Vanderbilt, is now 
its mistress. By her tact, ability 
and financial resources, she has 
restored the family seat of the 
Marlborough's to its former high 
position in the social and political 
world of Great Britain. 




Everything we have seen tends 
to impress us with the strict at- 
tention paid to the law in this 
country, even in remote little vil- 
lages. As an illustration, let me 
tell you what occurred since I 
last wrote you. " A good joke!" 
you will say. I myself think it 
too good to keep ; hence my gen- 
erosity in sharing it with you. 


On the road to Woodstock (by 
bicycle) we were held up by three 
men. In old England, on one of 
the Queen's public highways, we 
were ordered to halt and dis- 
mount. But when we had obeyed 
there was no demand for money, 
no demand for watches or other 
trinkets. These "highwaymen" 
desired to rob us not of trash, but 
of our good names. 


But to explain to you the reason 
of this queer proceeding : — 

The country in and around 
Woodstock is slightly hilly, and 
wheeling up the hills would be 
quite without compensation were 
it not for the delightful coast 
down. We had slowly and labo- 
riously made our way to the top of 
the highest and steepest hill, and 
were fully expecting a great coast 
of about a half mile, when to our 
dismay we found that a portion of 
the road was being re-macadam- 


We must ride on the sidewalk 

or give up the coast, so naturally 
we gayly choose the former. It 
was our intention to remain on 
the walk only long enough to pass 
the part of the road that was being 
improved, but the incline was 
steep and our speed became so 
great that soon it was impossible 
to turn into the main road. 


As we were flying along, three 
men appeared on the crest of the 
hill just ahead of us. No atten- 
tion was paid to them at first. — in 
fact, not until we neared each 
other, when we observed that they 
wore blue uniforms and brass but- 

Then at the risk of our necks, 
we hurriedly took to the road, 
having long ago passed that por- 
tion of the highway which was 
unfit for use. The men in blue 
also took to the road and marched 
steadily towards us. The ringing 
of bells was of no avail; onward, 
still onward, they came. We 
were now but a few paces apart, 
when the order to halt and dis- 
mount was given. We knew we 
were "in for it;" riding on side- 
walks is punishable in the United 
States, — so, how much greater 
must be the offence in staid, con- 
servative England ! 


"What is your iiiimc .'" de- 
manded an officer. At this we 
put our heads together and held a 
short caucus. The question in 
our minds was whether to tell our 
names and addresses or to con- 



ceal our identity. The maxim 
that "honesty is the best policy" 
having been instilled into us by 
years of teaching, we decided to 
answer all questions truthfully. 


The constable again demanded 
of me : "Your name ?" I gave it. 
"Where do you live?" "Mobile, 
Alabama." "Mobile, Alabama!" 
repeated the constables in chorus. 
They looked at each other, they 
looked at us. "Alabama ! in what 
part of England is Alabama? 
Where is Alabama?" Eumsey of 
our crowd remarked dryly that 
Alabama must not have been dis- 
covered when the officers studied 
Geography. This bit of repartee 
was enjoyed by us if not by the 

Eumsey was then questioned, 
and when he mentioned New York 
as his home, the perplexity of the 
constables vanished. In a word, 

we were Americans. 

* # # # 


We visited Warwick Castle in 
the afternoon, and spent two very 
enjoyable hours admiring the mas- 
terpieces on exhibition and study- 
ing the architecture of the old 
fortress. The river Avon runs 
along one side of the outer walls 
and forms a natural moat. 


I was attracted to the river 
bank by an old mill which in 
former days ground the grain of 
the Earl and his tenants. This 
building and the run is still used, 
but not for grinding grain. To- 

day the wheel, drivenby the water 
of the Avon, generates electricity 
for the illumination of the Castle. 
Yesterday, a feudal mill — to-day 
an electric light plant ! The past 
and the present, the mediaeval and 
the modern, — are they not oddly 


We came out of the Castle at 
five o'clock, had tea, then decided 
to go to Leamington, a famous 
health resort. It is connected 
with Warwick by a horse-car line, 
or to be English, "you know," by 
tram-cars. After a few moments' 
waiting, we were gladdened by 
the sight of a car. Every seat 
was taken, but no one was stand- 
ing. Somewhere we had heard 
that "there is always room for one 
more," so we swung aboard astbe 
car passed. 


The conductor evidently disap- 
proved of this performance, as he 
immediately signalled the driver 
to stop, then politely told us that 
they were carrying the full com- 
plement of passengers. We did 
not quite comprehend what was 
expected of us and cheerfully ex- 
pressed our willingness to stand 
up or to hang on to "any old 
thing." But again came a polite 
response, and we learned that a 
conductor was fined if he carried 
more than the seating capacity of 
the car; so we had the pleasure 
(?) of waiting for one less crowded. 

What do you suppose a base 
ball crank would say if he were 
put off a Monroe Park car for the 










reason above given, when on his 
way to a game ? We thought just 
what that crank would say. 
# * * # 


A few days ago we bade adieu 
to France and crossed the border 
into Switzerland. Truly, the for- 
mer country deserves the title, 
"La Belle France," and so over- 
powered am I by the glory of its 
capital, Paris, the only Paris, with 
its marvellous art galleries, beau- 
tiful churches, stately boulevards, 
and so forth, that I must beg you 
not to expect any description of 
its innumerable attractions. 


And for the country itself, — 
with what regret we left the splen- 
did system of roads which make 
it a veritable wheelmen's para- 
dise ! Fancy every highway 
throughout the entire Republic as 
smooth and as well cared for as 
our Shell Road, and so well 
drained that one hour after a hard 
shower, one can ride with no at- 
tendant discomfort. 


By the way, did I tell you in a 
previous letter of that quaint 
scene we witnessed in the village 
of Pontoise, only a few miles 
from Paris? Or to place it more 
distinctly before your mind, it is 
just beyond one of the most noted 
suburbs of Paris, St. Denis, — St. 

Denis, whose great church serves 
as a huge mausoleum for many of 
France's Royal Rulers. Greatest 
of all in interest to me was the 
tomb of beautiful Marie Antoi- 
nette, — but let me leave that for 
another letter. 


To return to Pontoise, — we 
passed through one Sunday after- 
noon; the streets were crowded 
and the little tables in front of 
the cafes surrounded by happy 
groups, busy discussing various 
liqueurs and beer. But it was 
neither the people nor the bever- 
ages that attracted us. 

A man came down the street 
blithely playing a fife, just as did 
the Pied Piper of Hamlin in the 
olden days; but instead of rats or 
children, a small army of goats 
followed. The strange cavalcade 
halted before a house, the Piper 
played a peculiarly seductive little 
tune, the door opened. We 
watched breathlessly. Would 
another goat come forth? Instead 
a buxom maid appeared armed 
with a pitcher. The Piper laid 
aside his melodious reed and de- 
scended to the prosaic work of 

Have you ever heard of a more 
unique, movable dairy! — and this 
almost within the shadow of the 
Queen of civilization ! 

H. Herbert Lyons, '!>!>. 



Fallen from thy glory 
Art thou little flower; 

Faded is thy beauty — 

Oh ! thou ruthless shower ! 

Broken lie thy petals, 
Gone thy perfume rare, 

Scattered are thy leaflets 
Through the tempest air. 

Queenly was thy splendor, 

Loved by passers-by: 
Now they stand in wonder 

Hearing but a sigh. 

Crushed and bruised floweret, 
Golden truth that lies 

Hidden in thy falling, 
See how men despise ! 

Human lives may glory, 
Boast they too are fair; 

Yet like thine, their beauty 
Time will soon impair. 

Cheeks shall lose their roses, 
Lustrous eyes depart: — 

Virtue 'tis that lingers 
Fair within the heart. 



FEW of us are indifferent to linger over by-gone ages. There 

the charms of history; few of is a certain indefinable beauty en- 

us do not acknowledge a partiality circling them which neither the 

for the "messenger from the dis- time being nor the time to come 

tant past." possesses in itself. Perhaps the 

The present may be bright and former is too fresh to show vividly 

cheery, and, prying into the dimly forth all its importance, and the 

lighted portals of the future, great latter too far beyond our grasp to 

happiness may appear to be in claim our attention very long or 

store for us ; yet, we love most to steadily. 



But the past is all our own. We 
may calmly look back upon it, 
view it in its varied lights and 
shades, and feed our minds upon 
its manifold splendors. Its heroes 
become ours, its famed men and 
women live again in our world, 
and all its glorious deeds loom up 
before our admiring gaze like the 
stars after twilight. Once more 
we behold its great conquerors 
leading armies to the field of bat- 
tle, once more we witness the 
overthrow of wealthy monarchies, 
the rise and fall of powerful dy- 
nasties, the origin and growth of 
popular and long-standing govern- 

Former wars, just and unjust, 
are waged over again, laws are- 
enacted, revolutions convulse the 
land, right is trampled underfoot, 
and might, the brazen tyrant, is 
triumphant. All this and more 
passes before our eyes as if occur- 
ring in the living present. Hence 
our fondness for history, "the wit- 
ness of ages," the chronicle of the 
grave, — a fondness which, spring- 
ing up in our bosoms in the dawn 
of youth, grows and waxes strong- 
er within us, even till the dingy 
dusk of life begins to gather 
about our horizon. 

Apart, however, from the pleas- 
ure derived from this excellent 
study, it affords us an education 
which is invaluable and could 
scarcely be acquired even at the 
cost of immense pains and labor. 
No art, no pursuit, can impart to 
us the mental and moral training 
which a few pages of history will 
effect. For in this "teacher of our 

lives' 1 we have as in a nutshell the 
vast and varied experience of 
wise and successful men for cen- 
turies and centuries agone. We 
become possessed of their rule of 
life, their plan of government, the 
operations of their masterly minds. 
We may follow them as they take 
each successive step up the ladder 
of fame; we may watch them as 
they carry through some mighty 
design or surmount some great 
obstacle. Now we may view them 
in the council-chamber, then in 
the battle-camp; now framing use- 
ful laws, then leading armies to 
glorious victory or honorable de- 
feat. In the sunshine of prosper- 
ity, or in the storms of adversity, 
they constantly stand out before 
us as grand types after which we 
may fashion our lives, as secure 
guides along the by-paths and 
crooked ways of this world, as 
noble leaders in the battle for 
honor and right. 

"Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And departing leave behind tbem 
Footprints on the sands of time." 

But besides teaching us what to 
do, history also points out in un- 
mistakable tokens what we are to 
avoid. It puts before us both 
sides of human nature, the bad as 
well as the good ; it shows forth 
the light while not hiding the 
shadow. It maps out the high- 
road to infamy as well as the path 
to glory's heights. While con- 
templating the course pursued by 
the favored few who have reached 
the port of fame unscathed, we 
may also trace the route of those 



who, failing for want of skill or 
energy, to steer their bark aright, 
have miserably run aground or 
split against a jutting rock. The 
entire panorama of human action 
for over five thousand years is 
laid out before us in marked and 
precise outline. 

While imparting these valuable 
lessons of life, history also fires us 
with a love of country, — or at 
least enhances and strengthens 
this heaven-born virtue in our 
hearts. Eight well did England's 
late laureate sing: 

" Love thou thy land with love far 

From out the storied past." 

And, in sooth,what man less cold 
than marble, and less hard than 
flint, can peruse the glories of his 
fatherland in the record of the 
"storied past," without experienc- 
ing a new and increased admira- 
tion and fondness for it ? As he 
cons the eloquent pages that tell 
of its rise, progress and prosper- 
ity, and the gallant men who 
brought about these happy issues, 
how his heart will glow with a 
warmth never before animating it ! 
Far dearer to him become his na- 
tive mountains and valleys, hills 
and dales, streams and lakes and 
woodlands! Every rood of ground 
is sanctified, and the land of his 
birth is high enthroned in his af- 
fections with a strength that time 
can never eradicate ! 

What true-souied American, 
reading the golden chronicles of 
his country, will remain unmoved 
at the mention of Lexington, Bun- 
ker Hill or Yorktown % Can he be- 
hold in fancy the birth of our close- 
ly linked government by the peo- 
ple, with the people, and for the 
people, the grandest on the face of 
the earth, and the wonder of the 
ages, — can he behold it, I say, and 
not feel himself carried away with 
uncontrollable enthusiasm % Can 
he glance with stolid indifference 
at the opening words of that im- 
mortal deed, the key-stone of our 
liberty, the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence? Will he not be elec- 
trified upon hearing that magic 
sound, Washington % Can he 
stand idly, listlessly, coldly by 
while listening to a roll call of 
such inspiring names as Henry, 
Adams, Jefferson, Hancock, Lee, 
Greene, Jackson, Semmes and 
Wheeler 1 

Truly, then, history is a noble 
study, a treasure beyond all price 
for human kind. We may draw 
from its precious depths the rarest 
gems of wisdom and morality; nor 
shall we ever exhaust this store- 
house of sound, practical knowl- 
edge. Cicero's encomium, then, 
was none too high when he styled 
history "the witness of ages, the 
light of truth, the life of our mem- 
ory, the teacher of our lives, a 
messenger from the distant past." 

J. Douglas O'Brien, '00. 


TO the young man about to en- 
ter upon the struggle with 
the world, no more useful advice 
could be given than may be 
summed up in the two words, "Be 
Practical." To him the famous 
words of Mr. Cleveland might be 
applied with peculiar force; and 
the more deeply he realizes their 
truth, the more certain is his fu- 
ture success. 

Truly it is a condition not a 
theory which then confronts him. 
Few, very few, when their college 
days are over, have a career open 
to them in which they are reason- 
ably assured in advance of even 
moderate success. And by sue 
cess in life we are not to under- 
stand the attainment of any great 
distinction which will place ours 
among the few immortal names; 
for they are, in truth, the success- 
ful ones who, with the advantages 
received in education and in men- 
tal and physical capacities, make 
such good use of these that they 
either excel, or at least, fall not 
below, the average of their fellow- 
men with equal advantages; who 
live practical, useful and honora- 
ble lives. 

Be practical, then, at the start ; 
do not assume that it is incumbent 
upon you to choose some special 
career; remember that every hon- 
est career is an honorable one. 
Look around you, weigh carefully 
your own resources, appreciate 

conscientiously your own capaci- 
ties and aptitudes ; watch for your 
opportunities, recognize and take 
advantage of them. Look ahead, 
but not too far; wind and tide 
change, so does the current of hu- 
man events ; but no man can fore- 
see the change by more than a 
very brief period of time. Be 
practical, then, and do notattempt 
the impossible. 

Make friends and, above all, 
keep them, but be practical; learn 
to distinguish well between your 
friends and your flatterers; 
trust the former and fear the lat- 
ter. Do not spealc of what you 
can do, but be practical and do 
not fail to shoiv by your deeds of 
what you are capable, that your 
friends may have the opportunity 
of speaking in your behalf. 

Seek no responsibilities you are 
not called upon to assume, but 
when responsibilities rest upon 
you, accept them manfully, seek 
honestly to find what is right, and 
do it; you have then done the 
best you can; but be practical, 
waste no time in seeking to show 
that you were right ; nothing is 
to be accomplished by it. Some 
will always approve, some will al- 
ways blame, but the great majori- 
ty, who are usually indifferent, 
will always recognize and give 
credit for sincerity. 

Be practical, then, in all things : 
do nothing without a purpose and 



a good one ; and if, when your 
life's work is done, it can be truth- 
fully said of you that you have led 
an honest and a useful life, you 
have had the full measure of suc- 
cess usually allotted to men. If 

God has intended you for greater 
things, the opportunity to accom- 
plish them will surely come. Then, 
be practical ; recognize and profit 
by the opportunity. 

John St. Paul, '84. 


LAST February, one of the two 
principal buildings constituting 
St. Charles College, Grand Coteau, 
Louisiana, was burned to the 
ground. When, during the same 
month but thirty-one years before, 
Spring Hill was reduced to a heap 
of smouldering ashes, her children 
sought and found refuge beneath 
the hospitable roof of the now 
desolate institution. In view of 
this fact, the following account of 
the late disaster, written by an 
eye-witness, will prove of interest 
to Spring Hillians: 

"It has pleased God to try once 
more this institution of many vi- 
cissitudes in the past. It is here 
that the Society of Jesus educates 
the young members of the New 
Orleans mission in the collegiate 
branches of the higher education. 

'•There are, or rather were, two 
main buildings In the old, with 
its grand pillars and porticos, 
erected in 1837, resided the pro- 
fessors and a certain number of 
the students; in it also are the 
recitation rooms, the physical and 
chemical apparatus, and various 
offices of the establishment. Jn the 
BO-called new building, standing 

since 1858, were, in the third story' 
the rest of the students and the 
collegiate library of $10,000 esti- 
mated value, bearing an insurance 
of $3000; in the second story, the 
rooms of the rector, the minister, 
some old fathers, and the house 
library. In the first or lower 
story were bathrooms, an extra 
lecture room, the refectory and 
the students' library. To the rear 
were the kitchen and larder. 

"These two buildings were con- 
nected by a long wooden shed 
with shingled roof. To the south 
are the infirmary and servants' 
quarters, and near by the large 
barn. To the west of the old 
building, the well-known St. 
Charles College, dedicated Deo et 
Patriae, is the large and beauti- 
ful parish church, and to the north 
the presbytery, and the so-called 
White House ; still farther the old 
church, venerable and picturesque. 
All these are of wood. 

"In the evening of the 17th, a 
chimney in the rear of the new 
building was seen to be on fire, 
but the roof was of slate and no 
danger was feared. In some or 
other manner the fire was stealing 



its way between the roof and the 
ceiling. The night was intensely 
cold, but providentially calm and 
still. Had the wind been from the 
north, the-infirmary, the stable and 
doubtless many houses of the vil- 
lage would have been lost. Had 
it been from the south, then noth- 

dropping on his face and bed. 
The alarm was given, but it was 
plain that nothing but the clothes 
on the inmates of that corridor 
could be saved. An attempt was, 
indeed, made to secure some of 
the more valuable volumes of the 
collegiate library, but it was im- 

(The building on the right of the picture was burned.) 

ing would have been left; the old 
college, the church and other 
buildings would have consumma- 
ted the holocaust. 

"About a quarter to 1 a. m., a 
scholastic was awakened by sparks 
filtering through the ceiling and 

possible to breathe in the Bmoke 
that already filled the apartment, 
while the llamcs were already eat- 
ing their way through the ceiling. 
From the second story everything 
of value was secured. The vol- 
umes of the house library were 



sent sailing from the windows to 
the lawn beneath, whence they 
were gathered up and borne off. 
Some of them, indeed, lit upon the 
backs of the rescuers, greatly im- 
pressing them with their weight of 
learning and solidity of argument. 

"It was touching to see our 
young rector, covered with the 
eucharistic veil, and preceded by 
two students with lighted candles, 
silently and solemnly bearing 
away to the parish church the 
Lord of the Sanctuary. As he 
pressed Him to his bosom, no doubt 
he was saying, 'Not my will, but 
Thine, O Lord, be done.' 

; 'The writer was one of those 
living in that corridor, and he was 
slow to believe in the extent and 
swift progress of the disaster. 
Having dressed in civilian clothes 
and secured some manuscripts, 
the spare results of years of labor, 
he was thinking what he should 
put in the empty trunk beside him, 
when two students hurried him 
unwillingly away; five minutes 
later one of these was letting him- 
self down from a window sill of 
that second story, a height of from 
15 to 20 feet. Yet another climbed 
over the iron balustrade and slid 
down a column to the ground. 

"From the lower floor every- 
thing was rescued, the students' 
library, benches, tables and all 
the paraphernalia of the refec- 
tory, even to the paintings that 
lined the wall. They worked on 
to the last, unconscious that or- 
ders had been issued that every 
one should abandon the building. 

1 1 n the Oathol 

"All this was accomplished by the 
students and lay-brothers, assisted 
by the hired servants, and latterly 
by a few of the neighbors, alto- 
gether about fifty in number, in a 
half hour from the first alarm. To 
protect the old building, on which 
they were sprinkling water from 
a hose, they had also cut down 
and borne away the wooden shed 
that extended to it. 

"As the writer surveyed the 
scene, he could not but be im- 
pressed with the serene calm of 
of one and all, from the rector, 
who found himself thus afflicted 
in the first year of his office, to the 
youngest student in philosophy. 
Their calm was not that of indif- 
ference, but of utter resignation to 
the will of God. One remarked to 
a gray-haired veteran : 'It must be 
very hard on you to be made house- 
less and homeless in your old age,' 
and the answer was : 'Houseless 
yes, but homeless never.' 

"It was very instructive to note 
the effective result of the discip- 
line and of the characteristic vir- 
tue of the Society, obedience. Not 
even was the alarm bell tolled to 
summon the neighbors until per- 
mission was given. There was no 
outcry, no frenzied shouting, but 
swiftly, cheerfully, almost silently, 
but most fearlessly they worked; 
and no company of regularsoldiers 
could have shown more coolness 
and courage and thorough disci- 
pline than those young cadets of 
theCompanv of Jesus. 

"Dieu roult, God's will be done." 
F. P. Garesche, S. J. 
ie Propagator for March 1, 1900. 



Nox memoranda dia, Martis bis sexta Kalendas, 
Sexagesima erat Paschali praevia festo, 
Volventis saecli dum mundus jubila ducit. 
Ante diem Domini sub noctem corda paramus: 
Culpas, ut mos, confessi votisque profusis, 
Somno securi placido committimus artus, 
Sopimurque alte quod perquam frigida nox est; 
Fors et somnia sunt pleno sub lumine lunae. 

At quam commodus est socius mortalibus ignis, 

Tarn metuendus erit sese quum fecerit hostem. 

Serpserat heic dudum fortassis subdola flamma ; 

Clam siccas tabulas ussit tectisque propinquat. 

Ecce repente sonus ! pulsantur fortiter aera. 

"Quid ? vesani sunt ? — Mane est ?" — Fricat alter ocellos ; 

Huic bracae desunt ; lampas lucere recusat. 

At nunc undique vox : "Ignis tecto est ! domus ardet !" 
Jam flam mae superant tectum, jam sidera tangunt ; 
Noctem convertunt in lucem. Currimus omnes, 
Hue illuc, citius pigrius, juvenesque senesque. 
Attoniti, trepidi, mentis sed robore fortes : 
(Mirantur vulgus tantae secreta quietis !) 
Hie sua fert, alius diversi strata cubilis ; 
Utres dirigit hie ; cisternas ille retentat : 
Vae ! reperit cunctas glaciatas frigore noctis. 

Per valvas passim qui mittunt perque fenestras 
Libros ac cartas fumo cessare coguntur. 
Nostri contendunt aliique labore tueri 
Quae possunt alacri : servatur inulta supellex. 
Est qui post operam scalae fervore repulsus 
Ex alto sese projecit fornice salvus. 

Ecce tibi turbas inter trepidosque tumultus 
Dignam pictura scenam, qualis fuit olim 
In casu Solymis sanctae discessio gentis. 
Ut poinpis mos est, sacro vestitus amictu, 
Stipatus facibus, tinnitum edente ministro, 
Incedit gradibus firmis vultuque sereno 
Mystes sacra ferens ardenti erepta sacello. 
Limine consistens intactis aedibus alte 
Pyxin sustollit dum verba precantia elicit, 
Quae audivit, progressus depulit ignis. 

Quatuor horis post, en ! muri, ferra, favillae, 
Praetereaque nihil ! Gratiae Coelestibus auteni 
Sunto, quod placuit antiquis parcere tectis ; 
Et quamvis graviter, sed tandem vivitur apte, 
Dum nobis dederit nova moenia Numen ! 

C. M. W. 


(After the Kecent Fire.) 

What means this gloom we fee], 

Why are we sad? 
What o'er our hearts doth steal, 

That erst were glad ? 
Why now our flag half-mast, 
That, but an hour past, 
Boldly defied the blast 

In glory clad? 

This morn a cloud of smoke 

Darkened the West, 
As the bright world awoke 

From peaceful rest; 
Grand Coteau, once so proud, 
From out her ashy shroud, 
Sent forth this dismal cloud, 

Now sore distressed. 

Sister, that once our cold 

Children received, 
Our portals wide unfold 

To Thee bereaved. 
Our tears shall soothe thy burn, 
Our hearts shall be thy urn, 
As they in love's return 

For Thee have grieved. 

Yet we recall the night 

Of long ago, 
When from their towering height 

Our walls fell low. 
Hope dries our tearful eyes, 
And where thy ruin lies, 
Once more we see Thee rise, 

Fair Grand Coteau! 

F. I. M. 



FEW days ago I was passing 
by a green, on which were 
gathered together a group of 
schoolboys preparing to engage 
in a game of base ball. They were 
a happy, noisy, frisky crowd — 
nothing unusual for their kind, — 
all except one little lad of about 
eleven summers. Though he, too, 
was joyful, the presence of a pair 
of crutches on which he leaned 
for support, accounted for his not 
romping and hopping about like 
his more favored comrades. 

Poor Willie Lyons had been a 
cripple from birth. His affliction 
was a sore trial to him, more es- 
pecially because he was unable to 
join in all the athletic sports of 
his companions. Still these, obey- 
ing their true boys' instincts, 
did all in their power to lighten 
their stricken young friend's bur- 

They allowed him to partake in 
as many of their games as they 
conveniently could, and when it 
became necessary to refuse him, 
did so in the kindest and most 
considerate manner possible On 
this occasion, however, one of his 
playmates forgot himself. 

They were eagerly pressing 
around the two captains, who were 
"choosing up sides." The two 
contending teams were soon ar- 
ranged, and Willie discovered that 
he had not been selected. He 
called attention to the omission 
by asking in an embarrassed tone 
of voice:— 

"Won't you let me play, 
please ?" 

"We are afraid you might be hit 
by the ball, and get hurt," an- 
swered one of the captains. 

"Oh, no I won't ! lean take care 
of that!" protested Willie. 

"But, don't you see," put in an- 
other boy, "you can't run, and 
you'll be all the time in the way?" 

To this Willie, wounded to the 
quick, answered not a word. In 
shame and confusion he shrank 
from the crowd. But a defender 
of the maimed boy stepped forth ; 
he was one of the oldest among 
them, and one of the captains. 

"How mean of you to talk that 
way to Willie! How would you 
feel if you were like him, and 
somebody would always be re- 
minding you of your trouble ?" 

Then turning to Willie he spoke 
encouragingly: — 

"Come, Willie, you'll play on our 
side. Don't worry about running; 
I'll do all the running for you." 

The poor boy's face brightened 
up, and with a hearty "Thank 
you," to his generous companion, 
he smilingly rejoined his fellows. 

The game proceeded merrily; 
and all were happier for this no- 
ble act of charity to one of God's 
suffering children. 

As I turned to leave the happy 
band, the thought arose unbidden 
in my mind : here, surely, I have 
found a gentleman, one who, in 
very truth, "never inflicts pain" 
nor allows pain to be inflicted. 



HERE I am, — chuckled a bright 
gold coin — dangling from the 
watch-chain of a millionaire, who, 
I must say, treats me with 
respect; and well he may, for 
I was the beginning of his fortune. 
But if I am now enjoying a quiet 
and comfortable existence, it was 
not always thus ; for mine indeed 
has been a strange and eventful 

It was in the Spring of 1849, 
during the great rush for gold to 
California that two adventurous 
young men from Tennessee found 
me buried under nineteen feet of 
sand. How shapeless, how un- 
gainly, how dirty I then looked! 
Still — I remember it well — how 
the sight of me, even so ungainly, 
cheered the hearts of the young 
adventurers, for it was the first 
nugget they had found ; and no 
sooner had the pickaxe turned me 
over in my sandy bed, than I was 
taken up with exclamations of joy 
and given a thorough bath in a 
neighboring creek, and afterwards 
set up in a prominent position in 
the camp. 

I formed part of the first ship- 
ment to the Assay Office, where I 
heard a man say "eighty-nine per 
cent pure" as he turned me round 
to take a good view of me before 
my departure ; for I had to be sent 
to the Mint the very next day. 

After a wearisome journey, I 
found myself at the Mint in New 
Orleans, where I met with a warm 
reception. The heat here was so 
intense that I actually melted! 

Besides, I was cruelly beaten and 
hard pressed in many ways, but I 
finally came out of the ordeal — a 
bright, new five-dollar gold piece. 

With a lot of other coin, 
bright and new like myself, I was 
piled in a strong box and shipped 
to Washington, D. 0. On the way 
the train was wrecked, and there 
was a great crash! The strong box 
in which we were closely lined up 
was broken and we were scattered 
on the ground near the track. 
There we lay under the heavy de- 
bris, but not for a longtime. The 
salvage crew did not forget us; my 
companions were all rescued, but 
I chanced to roll in a fissure in the 
ground and so I was left behind. 

There I lay until a heavy rain 
came along and I was washed 
away some fifty yards down the 
road I was gradually carried 
further down the hill-side, till at 
last I lodged in a conspicuous 
place, not more than a hundred 
yards from a small cottage. This, 
I believe, was near Atlanta, in the 
State of Georgia. 

More than eight months had 
passed since the railroad wreck, 
when a boy while gathering some 
faggots, espied my beaming face, 
and oh! how jubilant he was! In 
all my long and varied career, I 
don't recall one instance in which 
I was able to give such genuine 

That very night I was exchang- 
ed at the nearest grocery, and the 
clerk dropped me hard on the 
counter to see if I were good. I 



grew indignant at this insult both 
to myself and my late possessor, 
but perhaps he did not mean it. 

However, I spent a pleasant 
night ; for this was the first com- 
pany I had fallen into since the 
accident on the train — and such 
company it was! A few musty 
bills, some time-worn quarters 
and dimes, and several bad 
nickels ! But each had an inter- 
esting, sometimes thrilling, story 
to relate, and but for the odor of 
smoked bacon, to which I was not 
accustomed, we had a jolly time 
in the grocer's safe. 

But this did not last long; only 
two days later I passed into the 
hands of a travelling agent in ex- 
change for a patent non-smoking 
oil stove. Ha ! ha ! I said to myself 
I am going to see something of 
the wide world now ! Well, we 
went to San Francisco, and the 
air of my old home seemed to fill 
me with new life. Here I fell in- 
to the hands of a tourist, who had 
neither bicycle nor kodak — for 
that was long ago — but still I felt 
happy at the thought of going 
abroad, — and I was not alone, but 
with good company, and plenty of 
it, in the man's morocco purse. 

One day, as he was going to 
buy something, he took me out, — 
and I felt sure the hour of parting 
had come ; but, as luck would 
have it, I was not needed for the 
purchase, and the man absent- 
mindedly put me into his vest 
pocket ; — and that was another 
streak of luck, for, just before set- 
ting sail for foreign parts, the 
tourist changed all his money for 

English Money, myself, of course, 

When on the steamer bound 
for Yokohama, he came across me 
with a look of surprise, and then, 
absent-mindedly as before, he put 
me into his purse with the pounds 
and shillings. Here, contrary to 
my expectations,— for I always 
thought that I looked well, — I was 
very coldly received, and even 
looked upon with contempt by the 
other coins; so that I was rather 
glad, on reaching Yokohama, to be 
handed over to the porter who 
carried the baggage to the hotel. 
But, I had been given by mistake, 
and when the indignant porter 
discovered the error, he abused in 
terms unmeasured both myself 
and the tourist. 

But the insult ended not here. 
That very night the porter con- 
sidered himself shrewd (just think 
of it!) to trade me off for one 
glass of ale. Then again was I 
abused and my country was 
abused, and I just felt like rolling 
off somewhere to weep in secret 
the bitter tears of exile. 

As I lay there separated from 
all company, quarantined, you 
might say,as if infected with some 
dread disease, how I longed to re- 
turn to the land beyond the seas, 
where all have equal rights before 
the law! 

After one long month of weary 
waiting the time did come. An 
American captain, to whom 1 was 
shown, being asked if I were really 
sound, gladly came to my relief, 
and in three days I was sailing 
back to the United States 



The voyage was uneventful, 
but full of joy for me. So ill-used 
had I been in a foreign land that 
I was no longer particular as to 
what became of me provided I 
was at home. In fact, no sooner 
had I landed than I began to move 
about so briskly that I can hardly 
recall now all that happened to me. 

From the captain I passed to 
his son, and thence into an artist's 
studio ; to-day in a bakery and 
to-morrow with the grocer; now 
in the hands of a Chinaman, and 
then of a jockey; one week at the 
races and the next at a camp- 
meeting — transitions as rapid as 
they were regardless of personal 
feeling and propriety. 

But I had grown accustomed 
to all this ; ill-treatment had so 

hardened my feelings that even 
when, one day, someone took it 
into his head to drill a hole 
through me, even that I bore with- 
out a murmur. This is how it 
happened: — 

An enterprisingyoung man who 
had just entered into what he 
thought would prove a lucrative 
business,— and he was not mis- 
taken, — had come by me as the 
profits of his first day's doings. 
Expecting to become a rich man 
in a short time, he was determined 
to keep me as a gratifying remind- 
er, not so much of his former 
poverty, as of his subsequent thrift 
and business capacity; and that 
man, now a railroad magnate, 
was, — what do you think? — the 

Eugene Costello, '04. 



[In view of the vigorous controversy lately called forth by some remarks 
which were made by President Eliot, of Harvard University, derogatory to the 
Jesuit system of education, it is interesting to hear the opinions of one who 
has received his intellectual training under that system. The obnoxious re- 
marks occurred in an article which was published in the Atlantic Monthly. 

Judge Theard delivered the oration, from which the following extracts 
are taken, at the 49th Annual Commencement of the College of the Immacu- 
late Conception, New Orleans. With his kind leave, we reprint this able ex- 
position of his former masters' methods] : 

TWENTY-ONE years ago I left 
my Alma Mater. Besides my 
dear parents, I had no other pre- 
ceptors than the Jesuits. I have 
known the world, and studied 
other systems. To-day, I not only 
entertain for the Jesuits the same 

feelings of respect and love which 
were then in my heart, but, being 
better qualified to judge, I ac- 
knowledge my gratefulness to them, 
and sincerely congratulate the 
young graduates of this evening 
upon having received an educa- 
tion which may make of them dis- 





tinguished men — leaders of men, 
perhaps, if such should be God's 
will — which will surely make of 
them, if they be true to themselves, 
honorable, useful and successful 

The Society of Jesus was found- 
ed less than 400 years ago by a 
brilliant Spanish knight, Ignatius 
Loyola. It grew, at once, to a 
giant's strength, and established 
itself, not only in the old world, 
but also in the new countries, dis- 
covered during the preceding age. 
Balmes says: "We cannot travel 
in the most distant countries, tra- 
verse unknown seas, visit the 
most remote lands, or penetrate 
the most frightful deserts, without 
finding everywhere under our feet 
some memorials of the Jesuits." 
Nothing can be more true. Dur- 
ing the last three centuries, wher- 
ever there were souls to be saved, 
there the Jesuits have been 
found, "in the depths of the Pe- 
ruvian mines, at the marts of the 
African slave caravans, on the 
shores of the Spice islands, in the 
observatories of China. They 
made converts in regions which 
neither avarice nor curiosity had 
tempted any of their countrymen 
to enter, and preached and dispu- 
ted in tongues of which no other 
native of the West understood a 

But it is not of their services to 
the church that I desire to speak, 
nor even of their fame as orators 
or writers. I wish to confine my 
remarks entirely to the subject of 

To-day there is in nearly every 

city of the Union a college of the 
Jesuit Fathers. What I desire to 
show is the excellence of these 
educators, and that the education 
of the youth of this country can- 
not be intrusted into better 


The system of education in the 
Jesuit schools has received the 
approbation of the greatest minds. 

Lord Bacon said: "In regard to 
the education of youth, the sim- 
plest thing to say is to consult the 
schools of the Jesuits, for you 
cannot do better than to adopt 
their practice. * * * Never 
has anything more perfect been 

D'Alembert, one of the bitterest 
enemies of the Jesuits, observes 
in his work, "Sur la Destruction 
des Jesuites"; "Let us add, in or- 
der to be just, that no religious 
society can boast of having pro- 
duced so many celebrated men in 
science and literature. The Jesu- 
its have successfully embraced 
every branch of learning, and elo- 
quence, history, antiquities, geo- 
metry, serious and poetical litera- 
ture. * * * There is hardly 
any class of writers in which they 
do not number men of the great- 
est merit." 

# # # # 

I might multiply these citations. 

And this, mind you, is the testi- 
mony of unfriendly witnesses, who 
are reluctantly constrained to ad- 
mit that the Jesuits are the best 
educators in the world — the best, 



because no other body of teachers 
can compare with them in virtue 
— the best, because they apply 
their rich minds and pure souls to 
the mind and soul of their pupils 
— because their only concern, 
their only aim, their only ambi- 
tion, is to work for the greater 
glory of God (ad majorem Dei glo- 
riam), and therefore to guard, 
adorn and beautify God's image, 


Another fact which cannot be 
controverted, and by which the 
simplest persons may judge of the 
excellence of the Jesuits' educa- 
tion, is the unparalleled success of 
their students. 

The enumeration of all the great 
men who were educated by the Je- 
suits would be too lengthy for the 
limits of this address. In France 
alone almost every one of the men 
who shed so much intellectual 
splendor on the reign of Louis 
XIV. had studied in Jesuit 

Not only priests and popes, but 
immortal generals, magistrates, 
orators, writers, poets, were edu- 
cated by the Jesuits. I will men- 
tion only a few: Popes Gregory 
XV., Benedict XIV., Pius VL; St. 
Francis of Sales; Cardinals de 
Berulle, Fleury and Federico Bor- 
romeo; Bossuet, Belzunce, Flech- 
ier, Seguier, Tasso, Tori icelli, Des- 
cartes, Corneille, Buffon, Moliere, 
Fontenelle, Jean Baptiste Kous- 
seau, Emperors Ferdinand and 
Maximilian, Wallenstein, Conde, 
John of Austria. 

These are some of the illustri- 
ous dead. 

Look among the living — look in 
your own midst. Few, indeed, 
may write their names in history; 
fewer still attain to the highest 
fame; but in every profession, in 
every pursuit, and in every walk 
of life, among those whom you see 
and know, who are the men who 
have achieved success ? 

In this state, in this city, tell me 
who are the leaders in the law, in 
medicine, in journalism, in busi- 
ness, in society, and I will show 
you that a majority of them are 
Jesuit students. 


Ladies and gentlemen, there is 
one living Jesuit pupil to whom 
history will accord the highest 
place, whose name will be immor- 

For six years, from the age of 8 
to the age of 14 — from rudiments 
to belles-lettres — he was a student 
in the Jesuit College of Viterbo ; 
for the eight following years, 
through rhetoric, philosophy and 
theology he was a student of the 
Jesuit University at Kome; for 
thirty years, in his retirement at 
Perugia, and in his long, continu- 
ous studies, he had a Jesuit ex- 
professor of the Roman College 
ever at his side. Now, he encour- 
ages the Jesuit fathers through- 
out the world by letters of tender- 
est fondness ; now, he is acknowl- 
edged by all to be one of the 
greatest statesmen in the world, 
and one of the greatest writers ; 
now, he is the greatest living pa- 



tron of science, and greatest living 
friend both of government and 
governed, of capital and of labor; 
the greatest living promoter of 
universal peace and universal 
brotherhood. His name is Joa- 
chim Pecci, our holy father, Pope 
Leo XIII, the " Lumen in Coelo," 
the prophetic light in the sky above 
the closing glory of the nine- 
teenth century. 


Some unreflecting persons and 
authors, however, deny the excel- 
lence of the Jesuit system of edu- 
cation. Allow me to examine 
their objections briefly. 


It is said that the cultivation of 
the memory is made too promi- 
nent; is not this a compliment, 
rather than a just criticism? 

Memory is a distinct faculty of 
the mind, very different from per- 
ception, judgment and reasoning. 
It is so necessary and so excellent 
a faculty that all the other abili- 
ties of the mind borrow from it 
their beauty and perfection. In- 
deed, other capacities of the soul 
would be almost useless without 
this. To what purpose would be 
all our labors in knowledge, if we 
had not memory to preserve 
and use what we have acquired ? 
What signify all other intellectual 
improvements, if they are lost as 
they are obtained ? The ancients 
said: "Tantum scimus, quantum 
memoria retinemus"; we know in 
proportion as we remember. It 
is memory alone that enriches the 

mind, by preserving what our 
labor and industry daily collect. 
In a word, there can be neither 
knowledge, nor science, nor arts, 
without memory. 

And it is a remarkable fact that 
this precious faculty, which may 
be wonderfully increased by pro- 
per labor and exercise, is easily 
injured and quite spoiled by 

It is also a well known fact, 
within the observation of all, that 
memory is capable of the most 
wonderful development, and really 
tenacious of impressions received, 
only during childhood and youth. 
It grows and improves in young 
persons from their childhood ; in 
old age, it decays. 

Boyhood, therefore, is the time 
when this faculty should be thor- 
oughly cultivated. Professor 
Schmell says: "The school of the 
second period of childhood (from 
about 10 to 14) is before every- 
thing else a school of memory, 
and during it more will and must 
be given to and absorbed by the 
memory than during any other 
period of life." 

For these reasons, do the Jesu- 
its believe that in the earlier edu- 
cation of the child the exercise of 
memory should predominate, and 
that as little strain as possible 
should be put on the mind yet 
tender. Is it a defect in their 
system, as pretended by thought- 
less persons? Is it not, on the 
contrary, another proof of its ex- 
cellence ? 




It has been said that the Jesuits 
regard history and geography, 
mathematics and the natural 
sciences as unimportant. 

But the best answer to this criti- 
cism is the success of their stu- 
dents in every profession, in every 
pursuit, in every business, in poli- 
tics, and in social circles. 

Another answer is the Jesuits 
themselves, whose writings prove 
they are eminent in every branch 
of learning. 

In history, to mention only a 
few names, Petavius .Father Denis 
Petau) has given to the world his 
great work on chronology. We 
have also Labbe's publications on 
ancient and modern history, with 
geographical adjuncts; Father 
Buffier's " Practical History," 
which went through several edi- 
tions, and was supplemented by 
his "Universal Geographv"; and 
many other works of which the 
list would be tedious to you. The 
very "Ratio Studiorum" of the 
Jesuits, their method of teaching, 
requires that the course of mathe- 
matics should be seasoned always 
with some application to geogra- 

As professors or officers of the 

army or navy, or in the construc- 
tion and direction of observato- 
ries, the Jesuits have pursued 
every branch of mathematics, pure 
and applied. Father L'Hoste's 
"Treatise on Naval Evolutions" 
was used in the French navy, and 
was known as the "Book of the 
Jesuit." Of this book, the comte 

de Maistre writes, in 1820, "An 
English admiral assured me, less 
than ten years ago, that he had 
received his first instruction in the 
•Book of the Jesuit.' If events 
are to be taken for results, there 
is not a better book in the world." 

The famous Jesuit, Eximeno, at 
the school of Segovia, instructed 
young nobles in mathematics and 
the science of artillery. 

The republic of Venice struck a 
gold medal in honor of the Jesuit 
engineer, Vincent Riccolati. The 
king of Denmark honored Father 
Vico, the astronomer, with a gold 
medal struck in his honor in 1846. 

According to late researches, 
made by Messrs. Andre and Royet, 
astronomers of the Paris Observa- 
tory, the number of observatories 
in the world, towards the close of 
the last century, was 130. Of this 
number, thirty-two were founded 
by Jesuits, or were under their 

What the Jesuits have done 
heretofore, I doubt not that they 
will continue to do, now that phy- 
sics and mathematics have risen 
to a rank of the greatest impor- 
tance and highest honor. 


It has also become the fashion, 
in some quarters, to criticise the 
Jesuits for making Latin and 
Greek so important an object of 
study. The same persons and au- 
thors, it must be said, wanted to 
banish these languages altogether 
from the schools; but the use of 
the Greek and Latin languages for 
educational purposes is now ad- 



mitted by all, and they form part 
of the curriculum of every univer- 
sity of any note. There is no 
doubt that they have wonderful 
power to train the mind, and that 
they are of the greatest advantage 
to the student in almost all 
branches of science. 

For true knowledge of our own 
language, acquaintance with Latin 
at least is almost indispensable, 
while it forms the surest and best 
stepping-stone to Italian, Spanish 
and French. 

Though not the parent stock of 
English, Latin has struck a vigor- 
ous graft in it; so vigorous, in- 
deed, that about two-thirds of the 
words in our dictionaries are of 
Latin origin. 

This, however, is only a minor 
and local benefit. There is an- 
other advantage which Latin 
offers, not to English-speaking 
students alone, but to all students 
of language. In it more than in 
any other tongue, the usages of 
speech are simple and logical. 
"Latin grammar," says Dr. Karl 
Hildebrand, "is a course of logic 
presented in an almost tangible 

The same learned German writer 
remarks: "If it were conceivable 
that a youth should forget all the 
facts, pictures and ideas he had 
learned from the classics, together 
with all the rules of the Greek and 
Latin grammar, his mind would 
still be superior to that of one who 
has not passed through the same 
training. To give an example, I 
may state that in my quality of in- 
spector, it was my duty to visit a 

very large number of French 
lycees and colleges, and I found 
that the classical pupils, without 
exception, acquired more English 
and German than the others, in 
less than a quarter of the time. 
The same fact struck me in my 
visits to the German, Belgian, 
Dutch and Swiss colleges." 

The knowledge of Greek and 
Latin affords access to the most 
splendid literature ; to those im- 
mortal productions, which modern 
genius has never excelled, nor 
even yet equalled ; which we must 
study in the original, which we 
must "cultivate with daily and 
nightly devotion," if we are ambi- 
tious to become masters in our 
own language. 

These are some of the reasons 
which justify the Jesuits in teach- 
ing Latin and Greek, and in de- 
voting particular attention and 
time to their study. 


But, after all, what are the ob- 
jections to Latin and Greek ? 

Did you ever meet a Jesuit 
graduate who knew Latin or Greek 
better than his mother tongue ? I 
never did. Therefore, it can 
hardly be supposed that Latin and 
Greek are taught, to the exclusion 
or to the detriment of the language 
of the country. 

Is a man who knows the ancient 
languages less capable of earning 
his livelihood than one who has 
not studied them % Is such knowl- 
edge injurious to him? Does it 
prevent him from becoming a good 



lawyer, a good physician, a good 
architect, a good engineer, a good 
business man? 

Mr. Dana, of the New York Sun, 
does not believe that it prevents 
one from being a good journalist. 
In a lecture on newspaper-making, 
delivered before the students of 
Cornell University, in January, 
1895, he said: "Now, allow me a 
word as to the education that a 
young journalist should work for. 
In the first place, he should learn 
everything that it is possible for 
him to know. I never saw a news- 
paperman who knew too much, 
except those who knew too many 
things that were not so. I am 
myself a partisan of the strict, 
old-fashioned classical education. 
The man who knows Latin and 
Greek well may be trusted to edit 
a newspaper." 

That is the practical side, the 
common sense view, of the ques- 
tion. Even if the study of Greek 
and Latin were conceded to be 
entirely useless, still it could not 
hurt a student to have acquired 
the knowledge of those languages. 
If otherwise well equipped, he 
would know that much more than 
others who had not studied Greek 
or Latin. Surely, it could not 
place him at a disadvantage. 


Ladies and Gentlemen — There 
remains to be noticed only one 
more criticism of the Jesuits' sys- 
tem of education, and that is, that 
they teach Christian doctrine. 
This is a most serious matter. It 

is not an objection to the Jesuits, 
it is an objection to religion. 

My answer is that when religion 
shall be banished from your 
schools, national virtue will soon 
perish, and your republic will be 

If you wish to preserve your 
wondrous fabric of government, 
do not content yourselves with 
cultivating the mind, but culti- 
vate, also, the heart, of your chil- 
dren. Give them not learning 
only ; give them virtue. Send 
them not to teachers who will 
blunt their conscience ; place 
them not under the care of those 
who will never tell them that 
there is a Supreme Being, to whom 
they must account for their acts. 
Send them to those who will teach 
them that they have an immortal 


An eminent Protestant states- 
man and historian, Guizot, says : 
"In order to make popular educa- 
tion truly good and socially use- 
ful it must be fundamentally reli- 
gious. I do not simply mean by 
this that religious instruction 
should hold its place in popular 
education, and that the practice 
of religion should enter into it; 
for a nation is not religiously edu- 
cated by such petty and mechani- 
cal devices. It is necessary that 
a national education should be 
given and received in the midst of 
a religious atmosphere, and that 
religious impressions and religious 
observances should penetrate into 
its parts. Religion is not a study 




or an exercise, to be restricted to 
a certain place and a certain hour; 
it is a faith and a law, which ought 
to be felt everywhere, and which, 
after this manner alone, can exer- 
cise all its beneficial influence 
upon our minds and our lives." 

In his admirable manner Victor 
Hugo expresses the same senti- 
ment. "Far from wishing to pro- 
scribe religious teaching," says 
the great poet. "I consider it to 
be more necessary at the present 
day than it has ever been." 

"That which lightens suffering 
sanctifies toil. That which makes 
a man good, wise, courageous, is a 
perpetual vision of a better world 
shining through the darkness." 

Napoleon compared society 
without religion to a ship without 
a compass. 

Disraeli said: "I am not dis- 
posed to believe that there is any 
existing government that can long 
prevail founded on the neglect to 
supply or regulate religious in- 

Gladstone emphatically de- 
clares: "Every system which 
places religious education in the 
background is pernicious." 

Ladies and gentlemen, these are 
high authorities, these are solemn 
words. Hearken to them, you 
who hear me, and you to whom 
these words may be repeated. 


One evening fair, I knelt in prayer, 

Whilst o'er the altar rose the holy rood ; 

And high above aglow with love, 
The Sacred Heart a-pleading stood. 

The cross, upon the setting sun, 

Shot forth a parting golden dart. 
Compelled to raise, my dazzled gaze, 

Mine eyes I bent upon the Heart. 

But lo ! between my vision keen 

And Heart, the cross still, still appears ; 
And hark ! how sweet the accents 

Which steal upon my wondering ears ! 

11 My child, wouldst know, the secret glow 

Within this Heart ? wouldst learn its might ? 
First take my yoke, mine aid invoke, 

And climb with me steep Calvary's height." 



IT was sunset, and I found my- 
self in a thickly mantled forest 
— lost! Scattered patches of crim- 
son sky and golden cloud-wreaths 
above, and an endless labyrinth 
of trunk and branch and vine and 
leaf around — this was all that met 
my eager gaze whithersoever I 
turned. The silence, too, was ap- 
palling. Save for the occasional 
chirping of a weary bird seeking 
his nightly bed, or the unearthly 
hooting of a waking owl, no sound 
broke upon the still and mournful 

Many hours had I spent roam- 
ing through the pathless woods, 
with naught to guide my erring 
steps save my heart's fond yearn- 
ing for home and fellow-men. For 
once my courage revived as I 
came upon a crystal streamlet, 
which gushed forth from a wood- 
land spring. This kindly thread, 
mused I, will lead to freedom's 
light. But, alas! my hopes were 
but short-lived; my spirit sank 
again. The silvery rill sportively 
trickled along until it reached the 
edge of a morass, when it, too, was 
lost among the slimy weeds. 

I have often heard that when 
people go astray they move about 
in a circle. I now discovered the 
truth of the saying; for, as the 
sun was setting, I found myself 
.standing in the same place where 
I had taken my noon's repast. I 
knew it was useless, nay, danger- 
ous, to stir during the inky hours 
of night, so I looked about for a 

suitable spot in which to wait for 
the coming dawn. 

After some searching I chose a 
large oak tree, under whose friend- 
ly limbs I would establish myself 
for the night. My supper over, I 
lay down on my rustic bed, made 
of twigs and leaves, which I had 
taken care to gather before dark- 
ness set in. It was almost ten 
when I fell asleep, but I was rest- 
less and awoke several times. 

About midnight (as I thought) I 
opened my eyes with a start, and 
sat bolt upright on my leafy couch. 
Was I dreaming I Or had I really 
heard something move? I knew 
that I was not asleep, so I listened 
again for the noise that caused the 
disturbance. A moment elapsed. 
Another sound. I could distin- 
guish the murmur of voices. Foot- 
steps approached ; and between 
the bushes, about twenty feet from 
me, I could descry two brawny 
men, holding their masks in their 

"Say, John," said one of them, 
"Don't you think we succeeded 
beyond our expectations to-night?" 

"I should say we did," answered 
John, "and considering that there 
were only two of us in it, we got 
along splendidly. Why, we gath- 
ered in six gold watches, about a 
dozen excellent chains, three gold 
rings, two hundred dollars and a 
diamond scarf pin. That's the 
best haul we have made this year." 

"Well, that's not the question," 
put in the other. "We came here 



to hide those things, so let's hurry 
about it. So that is the tree you 
were talking about ?" He pointed 
out the tree under which I lay. I 
began to feel that they would dis- 
cover me ; and my presentiment 
was soon realized, for John re- 
sponded : 

"That's the one, Jim; let's take 
a look at it and see if it is suitable 
for our purpose." 

With these words they moved 
towards me. I trembled until I 
felt the leaves trembling under 
me. Nearer and nearer came the 
footsteps; faster and faster beat 
my heart. I knew that they were 
robbers; I was certain of being 
discovered. What could I expect 
from them? 

On they came. The little cour- 
age that was left in my heart died 
away. I was directly between 
them and the tree, so the foremost 
stumbled over me. 

"Hello!" said he, "what's this?" 
and he flashed the light of a dark 
lantern in my face. 

"Well, aren't you a queer chap, 
staying out in these woods at 
night? Don't you know that you 
are fully ten miles from any house? 
What are you doing here any- 

"I-I am lo-lost, s-s-sir," stam- 
mered I, a-and a-a-am just sle- 
sleeping here fo for the ni-night. 
Yo-you woke m-me up by your 
ta-talking ; a-and " — 

"You say you heard us talking!" 
exclaimed John, "did you hear 
what we said ?" 

"Ye-yes," I answered, still trem- 
bling, "bu-but if you Met me 
a-alone, s-sir, I-I won't t-tell a 
s-soul w-what I h-heard." 

"I don't think you will !" ex- 
claimed Jim with a saicastic 
laugh. "We mean to stop up your 
blubbering mouth with lead. Do 
you understand that ? Stand up 
against that tree !" said he, shoving 
me towards the oak. 

I now understood the mean- 
ing of his words. He meant to 
kill me. I was so overcome with 
fright that I sank helpless at the 
foot of the tree, but was soon 
raised up by John, who lashed me 
to a sapling. "O, please don't kill 
me!" I cried. 

"Shut up !" shouted John, then 
turning to Jim, he said : "When I 
count three you shoot that blamed 
fool through the head. Tell me 
when you are ready. Say your 
prayers, you idiot!" he continued, 
addressing me. 

"Beady !" spoke Jim. 

"All right! Take good aim. 
One — two — three !" 

I fell heavily to the ground — 
not so ! — the dreaded shot was 
never fired. Instead, I heard my 
brother's voice calling me. With 
a start I awoke to find myself 
securely housed in my own room, 
and not "Lost in the Woods." 
The robbers and the forest were 
only phantoms of a restless night. 
My trip to Dreamland had not 
been a pleasant one, and I was 
overjoyed to return to the realm 
of actual life. 

Maximin D. Totjart. '03. 


>HpHE through freight was speed- 
-L ing along between Raleigh 
and Baltimore on a hot summer 
day, and a thick cloud of dust fol- 
lowed the swiftly moving train. 
Two brakemen sat on the top of a 
box-car and smoked their short 
black pipes. 

"There's a bum inside this car 
er I'm mighty mistaken," remark- 
ed one. 

"Yes, I heard something movin' 
in there," assented the other, 
" 'spose we take a look at the 
switch ; we got ter wait twenty 
minutes for the fast mail." 

"Let's have some fun out er the 
hobo — he might have a drink on 
him ; most all o' these sort o' gen- 
tlemen tote a quart about 'em, in 
case a honest brakeman invites 
them to walk the rest o' the way." 

Thus they chatted until the train 
reached the switch. They climbed 
down, one on either side, that the 
tramp might not escape through 
the other door. 

"Here he is, Jim !" called out 
Brakeman No. 1, "look up in the 

"Please sah, kin yo' all gen'le- 
men let a po' lil' boy en a ole nig- 
gah ride fur as Washington?" 
came a plaintive voice from a 
corner of the box-car. 

"What's the matter, Uncle — 
case o' hard luck," asked the train 
man, "why don't you ride in a 
Pullman I What you gone ter do 
in Washington — dine with the 
Pres what's the kid doin' in 

here ? Where did you pick him 

"Fse ole Uncle Isaac, boss, an' 
1'se a po' ole niggah. I caint 
hardly walk wid de misery in mah 
laig ; please sah, don't put us off. 
Dat lil' boy is Mis' Lily's son — he 
is — an' I'se totin' him to Washin' 
ton to find his uncle ; his uncle is 
a rich man an' is gwine to take 
keer ob dis chile 'tell he grow up ; 
— aint he Marse George?" said 
Uncle Isaac. 

Little George answered, "Yes, 
indeed," and further stated that he 
wanted to get to Washington soon, 
as he was very tired and hungry, 

"Come on up in the caboose and 
tell us something more about your- 
self, old man," said the brakeman, 
"and most likely the boss will take 
you to Washington." 

The old negro laboriously 
crawled out and the little boy was 
helped to the ground; then they 
made their way up to the caboose. 
They found the conductor there, 
and the two brakemen gave a 
short account of their discovery. 
The "old man" was very kind- 
hearted, and after giving the two 
vagrants a cup of coffee and some 
substantial food, he asked Uncle 
Isaac to relate his story. The old 
negro scratched his woolly head 
and began. 

"Hits dis way, boss : Old Marse' 
George — dats dis chile's pa' — 
owned a big plantation down in 
Virginny, an' befo' de war he was 
mah massa. He didn't had no 



other chilrun but dis boy, an' he 
wa'nt borned twell one year fo' 
Ole Massa died. Wen de war 
broke out I went wid him an 7 he 
was shot in de bres' in de battle 
o' Shiloh. Arter dat we went 
home an' foun' de ole place bu'nt 
to de groun', and Mis' Lily at Ole 
Major Watkin's house, two miles 

"Well, Marse George gets a job 
writin' fer a book, an' dey kep' me 
ter wait on dem. Seven year ago 
Ole Massa tuk an' died, an' I been 
keepin' Mis' Lily an' de lil' boy 
eber sence by sellin' pralines, 
w'ich Mis' Lily made. Mis' Lily 
sho' made good pralines, honey — 
puk-korn pralines, cocoanut — " 
and Uncle Isaac went on to de- 
scribe "Miss Lily's" confections. 

"At dat time," the old man con- 
tinued, "we was livin' in New Or- 
leans, en atter while, w'en Mis' 
Lily had 'bout twenty dollars, we 
moved back up to Richmon' en 
thar Mis' Lily died. She did'nt 
lei' us but two dollars en' a quar- 
ter, en' de city bo'd o' healf tuk 
charge ob de remains, en' I tuk 
en' hid lil' Marse George so 
dey wouldn't put him in de po' 

'.'Yestidd'y ebenin' me an' him, 
we clum into dat box-cyar, whar' 
de two gen'lmen foun' us. Boss, 
we 'uns want ter go ter Wash'n'- 
ton and fine dis po' lil' chile's 
uncle, and he'll take keerob him," 

"Well, Uncle, what are you 
going to do when yon find his 
uncle." inquired the conductor. 

"Oh, Boss," answered he, u Unc' 
Isaac kin fin' a job somewhar; 

don't worry 'bout dis niggah, sah, 
— hits de chile ! " 

"Well we will take you to 
Washington, but I doubt if you 
find George's uncle in that crowd- 
ed city," said the trainman. 

"T'ank yo' sah, very much 
'bleeged, sah, indeed sah! " Uncle 
Isaac was profuse in his thanks. 

By that time the passenger train 
had come up and the freight pro- 
ceeded on her way with Uncle 
Isaac and little George in the 

They got to Washington at 
night, so the conductor allowed 
the two strange companions to 
sleep in a box-car. 

The next morning Uncle Isaac 
tenderly waked up his little charge 
and made his way out of the 
freight yard. On seeing a police- 
man he walked up to him and con- 
fronted him with this question : 

"Kin yo' tell me whar' Marse 
George's brother live at 1 " 

"Who is Marse George, and 
what's his brother's name?" de- 
manded the big policeman. 

"It's Mr. Wharton— Uncle Bill 
Wharton, sir." put in George. 

"Let me see; — there's a William 
Wharton lives at 9995 Pennsylva- 
nia Avenue. Do you know where 
that is 1 " said the officer. 

"No, sah, I caint say as I do," 
answered Uncle Isaac. 

"Well," directed the policeman, 
"just go on up to the corner, then 
turn up and walk twelve squares. 
When you have walked the twelve 
squares ask somebody where Mr. 
William Wharton lives; don't ask 
for 'Marster George's brother!"' 



"T'ank yo' sah," and Uncle Isaac 
courteously bowed himself off. 

When he had walked the re- 
quired number of blocks, he asked 
for Mr. Wharton and was shown a 
large building and told to go up 
to the fourth story and turn to the 
right. Doing as he had been bid- 
den, he found himself in front of a 
heavy door with a sign on it. 
This sign he laboriously spelled 
out "T.— JONES," and conclud- 
ed it was Wharton's name. 

He knocked on the door and 
was told in a gruff voice to "come 
in." Uncle Isaac cautiously opened 
the portal and poked his woolly 
head inside. 

"Is yo' Marse Wharton % " he 
inquired of the clerk, who impa- 
tiently turned his head. 

"No, I'm not Wharton; — can't 
you read? — his name is on the 
door across the hall." 

" 'Scuse me, eah ; 1 went and 
read de wrong sign;" and Uncle 
Isaac made a profound bow and 
backed out into the hall again. He 
knocked at the next door, and 
this time he got the right one. 

"Yes, old man, I'm Mr. Whar- 
ton ; what can I do for you?" 
asked that individual. 

Mr. Wharton was a middle-aged 
man, of the average height, with a 
heavy moustache. He seemed to 
be very busy and, therefore, spoke 
rather coldly to the old negro. 

"Well, sab," began Uncle Isaac, 
"is yo' de brother ob Marse 
George Wharton, w'ich lived on 
de 'Belle' plantation, close to 

"Why no, Uncle, I have no 

brother, but there are many more 
Whartons in this city. Perhaps 
I could help you to find your 
master's brother. Whose pretty 
child is that?" asked Mr. Wharton. 

Uncle Isaac began over again 
and related his pathetic story to 
the lawyer. When he had finished 
Mr. Wharton told him to sit down 
and wait a little while ; then he 
would do what he could for 

After he had finished his work, 
Mr. Wharton told the old negro 
that he w 7 ould take care of them 
for a few days and, in the mean- 
while, try to find little George's 
uncle. So they proceeded to 
board a car, which took them out 
to the residence portion of the 
city. There they got out and 
walked up to an imposing man- 
sion which, Mr. Wharton told 
Uncle Isaac, was where they 
would stay. 

"James," said Mr. Wharton to 
the butler, "show this old man the 
spare room in the servants' quar- 
ters." He took little George into 
the house. 

The next day he looked up in 
the directory for William Whar- 
ton. He found two of them; one 
a street car conductor, and the 
other, a senator. He sent his 
clerk to the conductor's residence 
and found out what he wanted, — 
that he was the wrong one. Then 
he himself called on the Senator. 

Senator Wharton said he 
certainly had a brother in Virginia 
but he had not heard that he was 
dead; that he had not received 
tidings from his brother for years, 



but supposed he was doing well 
down South. 

Mr. Wharton (the lawyer) said 
he would keep the old negro and 
little boy at his house until the 
Senator had inquired about his 
brother's death and had learned 
the details more thoroughly ; also 
that, if the Senator desired, he 
would send little George around 
with Uncle Isaac to see him. 

So that evening the old negro 
and the little boy walked up the 
steps of the Senator's house and 
rang the bell. 

"Hello, Uncle Bill !" rang out 
little George's silvery voice. 

"Well, land ob gracious, ef dat 

aint ole Marse Bill!" put in Uncle 
Isaac, in an ecstasy of joy. 

The three stayed out in the hall 
for two steady hours, talking of 
old times ; and Uncle Isaac had to 
repeat again and again the simple 
and sad story of "Mis' Lily's" life 
after her husband's death. Sena- 
tor Wharton soon had the little 
boy and the old negro comfortably 
established in his palatial home. 

And, if you should ring Senator 
Wharton's door-bell, now, you 
would undoubtedly be answered 
by old Uncle Isaac in full livery, 
smiling and bowing as of old he 
was wont in the Wharton home- 

B. Vatjght, '01. 


On a Resolution to Put Virginia in a State of Defence. 

THIS celebrated speech of Pat- 
rick Henry to the delegates of 
Virginia may be summed up in the 
two contradictory propositions : 
You must submit to slavery, or 
fight for freedom. 

But it was not by any means 
clear to many of the delegates that 
submission to the authority of the 
British Parliament was equivalent 
to laying down their liberty, or 
that the existing circumstances 
necessitated an appeal to arms. 
Both these assertions must, there- 
fore, be proved ; and as a violent 
party spirit would naturally pre- 
vail at a period of such universal 
excitement, the orator had first to 

gain the good will, and attention 
of those who were opposed to him, 
and then, as the question at issue 
was already before the House, to 
support his proposition by such 
unanswerable arguments as would 
convince, and by such appeals to 
the hearts and the nobler emotions 
of his audience, as would persuade. 
This is Henry's plan of action, and 
he executes it with masterly skill. 
Having conciliated the feelings 
and gained the attention, of his 
audience, he launches at once into 
his subject, and delivers himself 
of a soul-stirring appeal, in which 
reason and passion are so admira- 
bly blended, that even the reader 



is carried away in spirit to the 
Virginian House of Delegates, and 
finds himself joining in the thun- 
ders of applause that echo through 
the Hall when the orator has re- 
sumed his seat, and shouting with 
all his lungs: "To arms, to arms !" 

He gains the good will of his 
opponents by freely conceding 
that they are actuated by honor- 
able motives, and by pleading in 
his own behalf, "that different 
men often see the same subject in 
different lights." To this they 
can have no objection and cannot 
therefore deem him "disrespect- 
ful" towards them "if he speaks 
out his sentiments freely ;" espe- 
cially, as "this is no time for cere- 
mony." This is a frank and gen- 
tlemanly way of talking, which 
cannot but favorably impress an 
assembly of gentlemen. 

When he tells them that "the 
question before the House is one 
of awful moment to the country — 
a question of freedom or of 
slavery," he cannot fail to excite 
their attention ; and when he adds 
that it is only by freedom of de- 
bate that they can arrive at truth 
and fulfil their duty to God and 
country, and that for his part he 
should hold himself disloyal to the 
one and guilty of treason to the 
other, if he withheld his senti- 
ments at such a crisis, they begin 
to thiuk that the man who speaks 
with such a tone of conviction and 
solemnity, may, after all, be in the 
right. They are teachable. 

The favorable impression pro- 
duced is strengthened by the 
broad, dignified statement that fol- 

lows. "It is natural to man to in- 
dulge in the delusion of hope" — 
which, though general in itself, 
receives from the position of his 
adversaries a particular applica- 
tion. By means of this thesis and 
the hypothesis which underlies it, 
he shows how foolish it is to 
close their eyes to facts and rely 
on the "live-horse-and-you'11-get- 
grass" professions of England. 

He starts another thesis in sup- 
port of the above, namely, — that 
they must be guided by the lamp 
of experience ; and all the muni- 
ments of Ehetoric are brought into 
requisition to show that their ex- 
perience during the last ten years 
proves the insincerity of England, 
and her determination to subdue 
them by force of arms. "There- 
fore an appeal to arms and the 
God of Hosts is all that is left to 

But there is an objection : "We 
are weak," unable to cope with 
English power. 

The first part of the answer, 
though it doubtless served the 
purpose of the orator, seems to me 
defective and insufficient. He had 
said, "We must fight." They an- 
swer, " We are not strong enough," 
and he replies, "When shall we 
be stronger?" This appears to me 
to confirm their objection : We 
are not strong enough now; we 
will not be stronger later : there- 
fore the only conclusion is, — give 
up the contest altogether. 

But he does not give them time 
to see the weakness of his argu- 
ment. He hurries them on by a 
series of Rhetorical questions till 



he comes to the true solution of 
their difficulty. "Sir, we are not 
weak if we make a proper use of 
the means which the God of Na- 
ture has placed in our hands." 
He enumerates these means; — 
Our country, countrymen and 
allies. And he finally sweeps 
away the objection by a high- 
sounding enthymeme: 

"The battle is not to the strong 
alone ; it is to the vigilant, the 
active, and the brave." 

Then he repeats, probably un- 
consciously, what Livy puts in the 
mouth of Hannibal on the eve of 
the battle of Trebia : "We have no 
election ; there is no retreat, there 
is no peace ; the war is inevitable, 
and let it come!" How admirably 
he supports those statements by 
means of the adjuncts which he 

clothes and adorns with the rich- 
est metaphors. 

"Our chains are forged ; their 
clanking may be heard on the 
plains of Boston. * * * The 
next gale that sweeps from the 
North will bring to our ears the 
clash of resounding arms." And 
having shown them that the war 
is already begun, he rouses them 
to join hands with their brethren 
of the North, by strongly appeal- 
ing in figurative language to their 
love of liberty, and abhorrence of 
servitude; and in closing his pero- 
ration, he puts recreants to shame 
and shows himself a man true to 
his convictions when he asserts : 
"I know not what course others 
may take, but as for me, give me 
liberty or give me death." 

George S. McOarty, '01. 


Ye clouds, that to our gazing 
Appear all silver-hued ! 

O, heavenly mirror blazing 
Of blest beatitude! 


Candidum salve Triadis Supremae 
Lilium ! salve rosa amoenitate 
Coelica fulgens ! Genetrix beata 
Numinis Alti ! 


" The stag at eve had drunk his fill."— Scott. 

T.THAT a charming little creat- 
JL*- ure ne was j How pleasant 
the recollections of him ! 

He became a dweller at the col- 
lege when a fawn, and his early 
separation from his dam proved 
a source of bitter sorrow. For if 
the repugnance shown by him to 
the proffered milk, and his down- 
cast spirits, are a safe index to 
his interior dispositions, Billy was 
the most homesick little fellow 
that ever came to Spring Hill. So 
blue in fact did our friend become 
that a tiny bell was suspended 
from his neck by a blue ribbon, in 
hopes that its tinkling might 
soothe the wounds of his heart. 

But no; that seat of Billy's sen- 
sibilities was impregnable to the 
dulcet discoursings of music; and 
final recourse was had to the 
grassy lawns and sylvan dells of 
his college home. To his native 
wilds he was led; but alas! how 
devoid of sprightliness that skip, 
and how wanting in nimbleness 
that bound ! 

Poor little Billy ! Must he then 
pine away with grief; must he close 
his eyes forever upon this cold 
world, and depart for the happy 
hunting grounds of his fathers ? 
Sad thought,— alack! poor Billy. 

But ah! the devices of Dame 
Fortune when the turn her caprice 
takes is one of a succoring nature! 
She consults the Genius of Fam- 
ine and, well-a-day! lean and 
pinched with hunger appears at 

the door of the college kitchen, a 
friendless member of the canine 
tribe, — a sleek-coated beagle. 

His hunger appeased, the grate- 
ful dog takes a turn about the 
grounds prospective of making 
the college his abode. Having 
finished the inspection, his dog- 
ship, tired and drowsy from the 
morning surfeit, pushes into a 
leafy covert there to compose 
himself into a quiet nap. But 
what this apparition that rises 
before him? 'Tis poor Billy, sigh- 
ing his little heart away. Their 
eyes meet, and both, having had 
misfortunes and having learned 
thereby to succor the wretched, 
cement, by that single glance, a 
life-long friendship, ever after, 

"Sharing each other's sorrows, ♦ 
Sharing each other's joys. '' 

Days, weeks have passed, and 
in the meantime Billy and his boon 
comrade have waxed, — the one 
tall and happy, the other fat and 
tricksy. Apply, moreover, the 
term mischievous to both of them, 
and you have of the two a very 
salient feature. Mischievous, did 
I say? Why, that was no name 
for them, especially for Billy. 
Tricks innumerable were perpe- 
trated by him. 

Just in front of the college, be- 
tween the two division yards, was 
a fountain at whicli the boys 
slaked their thirst. How the ras- 
cally deer would ogle them as 



they quaffed the crystal liquid. 
Then stealing to the fountain's 
brink and applying- his muzzle to 
the edge of the cup, oh, the way 
in which he would mimic the 
drinkers ! 

From his little throat, that 
mocking-bird shakes floods of de- 
licious music; but, — no raptures, 
enchanted youth ! Billy has his 
thievish eye on your pocket-hand- 
kerchief! Look! 'Tis gone ! 

Among the participators in the 
foot-ball games which, in the good 
old dayswere much in vogue down 
on the "big boys" plain, could 
often be seen, — not strange to say 
considering his mischievous pro- 
pensities, — our friend Billy. With 
his hands behind his back, as has 
been quaintly put, he would stand 
apart from the rushing, jostling, 
panting players, quietly watching 
the game. But the moment the 
ball t got disorderly, and trans- 
gressed the bounds set for it, the 
frolicsome deer was on it in a 
trice. High in air over the bound- 
ing ball he would spring, alight as 
daintily as you please in front of 
it, quickly face about, rear erect 
and give the rising sphere a rap 
with his fore feet that sent it with 
quick rebound back to the field. 
How Billy did delight to fling 
himself in high glee at his little 
trick, over the head of some una- 
ware foot-ballist. 

On the way back from the plain, 
along the pine-shaded path, the 
capers of which the deer delivered 
himself were a wonder. Danc- 
ings, prancings, buckings, head- 
long dashes, — all these feats did 

he execute by way of gratifying 
his vanity. For Billy, who was 
vain, it must be confessed, espe- 
cially since the appearance of his 
first horns which, for purposes of 
admiring, he often caused to be 
reflected in the glassy fountain. 
And if at times, after such pleas- 
ing contemplations, our vain 
friend "tossed his beam'd frontlet 
to the sky," and strode down the 
lawn "the antlered monarch of the 
waste," can we blame him? No, 
poor beast ; what knows he about 
the malignity of priding oneself 
on God's gifts 1 

The storms of two winters have 
whistled harmoniously through 
the long-leafed towering pines 
that girt around and overtop the 
hallowed pile on the Hill. Our 
Billy has, in the meanwhile, fully 
developed, is strong and fleet of 
limb, and is possessed of insatia- 
ble roving propensities. Owing 
to this rambling disposition, the 
wheeling of the sun's disc down 
into the west has become for him 
the signal to bestir himself. From 
his heathery couch he arises, 
shakes the laziness from his limbs, 
gives his sleeping canine friend a 
gentle prod with his antlers, by 
way of awakening him, then hav- 
ing visited, for obvious purposes, 
the one the fountain the other the 
kitchen, away into the woods they 
scamper for an all night's chase. 

In those days, as in great meas- 
ure is the case now, there stretched 
from the college miles and miles 
through the country, even to the 
shores of the great Gulf, an ex- 
panse of glade and wood land with 



but few fences to redeem it from 
its primitive unsettled aspect. 
Over this wild stretch then, Billy 
shaped his nightly career. Oh! 
the excitement of those chases! 
Through copses, across pen, 
through glade and glen, the little 
beagle yelping and clamoring at 
his heels, on through the moonlit 
country dashed the deer. An oc- 
casional fence offers no serious 
obstacles to their progress, for 
over it at a bound leaps the stag, 
while through scrambles the still 
yelping dog. 

The morn, clad in russet mantle, 
is stalking over the horizon as the 
two, tired from their madcap 
range, slink into the yard and lose 
themselves in sound sleep. 

One beautiful night in spring, 
as the moon wasjust smiling over 
the top of the pines, Billy and his 
companion started off on their 
customary chase. They were 
soon lost in the depths of the for- 
est, enjoying themselves as only 
innocence can. The cry of the 
lone whippoor-will must have 
lost in plaintiveness at the sight 
of the happy pair; but misfortune 
will happen, and even the inno- 
cent are not exempt from it. The 
next day our friends got home 
long before the crowing of the 
cock announced the rosy-fingered 
dawn. Why this early return ? 
Alas! poor Billy; surely he was 
born under an unlucky star. He 
is limping sadly, — a cruel bullet 
has pierced through his tender 

The little dog, sore grieved at 
sight of his comrade's distress, 

sought in every possible way to 
relieve it. The wound was not 
easily accessible to the lingual 
medicament of the dog-physician ; 
so standing erect on his hind legs 
and placing his forepaws against 
his distressed friend's flank, he 
would lick the injured part franti- 

Thanks to the healing powers 
of his companion, and to his im- 
plicit obedience to the canine's 
instructions, Billy is once again 
sound of limb. But experience 
has proved to him a good 
teacher. No more does he range 
the country around, confining his 
rovings to his own spacious 

Happy, happy Billy, life is now 
become an endless chain of de- 
lights for you! But pause; it is 
the calm before the storm. Was 
ever creature more ill-fated 1 

One day our pet failed to show 
up in time for dinner, which in- 
deed was a very unusual thing. 
His absence, during the afternoon 
recreation hour, was noted espe- 
cially by the boys of the "little 
yard," who were accustomed 
to divert themselves at that time 
with the good-natured deer. 
"Where is Billy ? "—Alas ! poor 

Down by the shore of the far- 
famed lake, on the afternoon of 
the day in question, one of the 
fathers was reading his Breviary. 
What sound breaks upon his pious 
recollection ? A confused noise 
reaches his ears, and then, re- 
sounding down the bosky hill, he 
hears the heavy baying of hounds. 



Nearer and louder grows the din 
and presently out from cover, 
flecked with foam, and gasping 
from the toil, breaks poor Billy, 
closely pursued by three deer- 
hounds. A little more and the 
headmost foe will win the desper- 
ate game ; but plump into the lake 
jumps the noble stag, heads lusti- 
ly for the opposite shore, where, 
scrambling out, he stumbles to 
the father's side for protection. 
The leading hound has plunged in 
and strained half-way across the 
lake in eager pursuit, when a 
shout from the deer's saviour 
changes his tactics, and turning 
around he makes back as fast as his 
legs can paddle him. 

The hounds, baffled and cheated 
of their quarry, slunk off into the 
wood, leaving Billy to express his 
gratitude in mute lickings of his 
deliverer's hand. 

Anew the fount of our pet's 
tears is opened, and hard, ah ! 
cruel is his lot, poor, dear little 
creature; for not long after his 
terrible adventure, forgetting the 
dangers that infested the forest, 
he started off on a mad-cap tour 
one morning, accompanied by his 
canine companion and "woe worth 
the chase, woe worth the day ! *' 
he never returned. The faithful 

dog did return, moaning pitifully 
over the loss of his friend. Ren- 
dered inconsolable, he pined away 
with grief, and in a few weeks, 
poor little fellow, died broken- 

But how account for the strange 
disappearance of Billy % Did he 
become alienated from the college 
home, where for many years he 
lived and was loved? — absurd. 
Did he, in the midst of his ram- 
blings, get lost in the intricacies of 
the forest and adopt, for the nonce, 
his native wilds? — impossible. 

Oh ! if the impressions that 
dreams convey are based at times 
on a foundation of truth, confusion 
seize the wretch, whom in my 
slumbers I saw glancing along a 
rifle-barrel, with murderous intent 
on our Billy's life. What cared 
he for the tiny bell tinkling pre- 
ventively from our pet's neck. 
Ah, Billy, — that sable huntsman 

"e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs! " 

But we must drop the veil, noble 
creature, which, uplifted, revealed 
thee to us, young, blithesome and 

Farewell, pet; thou hast taught 
us in thyself, the greatness of the 
good God in the beauties of His 

Herbert O'Neill. '05. 


Ascendit Dominus coelestia regna triumphans, 
Et tamen fnter oves Pastor in orbe manet. 

O utinam, dum terra tenet mortalia membra, 
Aetherea merear vivere corde Domo ! 


(Ad ode of condolence on the death of a mutual friend.) 

BOOK I, ODE 24. 

What bound or limit to the yearning shall be placed 
For friend so dear ? Sad, mournful strains do thou inspire 
Melpomene, whom Jove, thy father, graced 
With liquid voice and tuneful lyre. 

When on Quintilius' soul shall torpor endless weigh ? 
And when shall Modesty and Justice' sister fair, 
Corruptless Faith and Truth in plain array, 
With him find any to compare ? 

By many honest men bewailed, the hero fell. 
More bitterly than thou, none, Virgil, did lament. 
In vain, thro' love thou askest back from hell 
Quintilius, not on such terms lent. 

What tho' to sweeter tones than Orpheus of Thrace, 
Thou shouldst attune that lyre once hearkened to by trees ; 
Yet blood would ne'er refill that phantom face 

Which Mercury (who not with ease 

Is moved to ope Fate's portals to the prayers of men,) 
Should once .to his black flock have driven with grim wand. 
'Tis hard ! but Patience softly soothes our pain, 
When there's no remedy beyond. 

S. H. C, 



T was July. 1793. The morning Before her troubled mind ap- 
sun shone brightly on the gold- pears outlined the heartrending 
en domes and lofty spires of the condition of her beloved country 
capital of France. which, chiefly through the ma- 
A beautiful girl, covered with a chinations of one hated man, is 
mantling cloak, stood before the still laboring in the throes of a 
door of an inn. Tall and erect in dire revolution. Inhuman butch- 
form, a head of brown hair fell in eries, cruelties before unheard 
rich profusion over her shoulders, of, thousands upon thousands per- 
wliile herglowing eyes aud flushed ishing, famine, misery, desolated 
face j^avG evidence of the anxiety villages, burning chateaux — all 
that reigned within her soul. this flashes before her menta 



vision, and in hopes of relieving 
the state of things, she makes a 
desperate resolve. 

After considerable parleying 
with the janitor of the inn, she is 

The foot-worn stairs they as- 
cend, and stand before the door of 
a dingy room. Inside they hear 
bursts of impatience and curses 
from the confined invalid. 

Plunging her hand beneath her 
mantle's folds, the girl wreathes 
her face in a smile of satisfaction, 
and raps softly on the door. 
"Come in !" rasps the voice of the 
inmate. Allaying, by a supreme 
effort, the emotion that agitates 
her breast, the girl enters. Her 
visit had been announced by letter 
the day previous. 

Before her was seated a man at 
a low table, with his feet in a bath 
and a blanket thrown over his 

"Ah ! you are the writer of the 
letter? What may your business 
be?" demanded Marat, with a 

"The welfare of my country 
urges me to this interview," re- 
plied Charlotte Corday. "I am 
come from Caen, the seat of the 
rebellion, and — n 

"What news from Caen ?" que- 
ried the impatient Marat. 

"Information about certain loy- 
alists, who are scheming your 

"Who are they?" eagerly pe- 
titioned the arch-revolutionist. 

"Petion," — how his eyes gloat 
over the characters as he hastily 
jots them down. 


"They shall be guillotined in a 
few days!" croaks the people's 

"The:: — " a flash of steel, a quick 
thrust, an agonizing shriek, and 
the man who had drenched his 
country in blood, lay dead at the 
feet of Charlotte Corday. That 
heart, in which had been con- 
ceived designs that saw maturity 
in horror-inspiring political mur- 
ders, pierced through by the assas- 
sin's blade, had ceased to beat. 
Her purpose accomplished, Char- 
lotte turns about and confronts 
the servants who, in answer to the 
dying monster's scream, rush upon 
the scene. With that desperate 
determination which nerved her 
arm for the stroke, she defends 
herself, knife in hand, against the 
infuriated menials and retainers. 
She reads, in their diabolical coun- 
tenances, blood for blojd: so, in- 
trenched behind a table, she des- 
perately holds her own until the 
gendarmes arrive. 

The officers, warned by an aged 
servant of Marat, hastened to the 

When they came to the inn, 
they found an enraged mob of 
men and women crowding in and 
around the entrance and throng- 
ing up the stairs. By main force 
they make their way to the room 
above, brush aside the rabid be- 
siegers, and firmly secure the de- 
termined girl. 

As Charlotte is led down stairs, 
and into the street, blows are 
aimed at her head. But these are 
warded off by the muskets of the 



officers. While she is being con- 
ducted to the Abbaye Prison, the 
howling, hooting mob showers 
curses and insults upon her, 

Not an approving look, not a 
sympathetic eye among that 
rabble. Rage possesses many ; ad- 
miration, few. A hiss comes from 
nearly every woman, and an im- 
precation from nearly every man. 
Those who would show apprecia- 
tion of her conduct, are restrained 
by fear. 

No sign of remorse is shown by 
the murderess; no tears of repent- 
ance course down her cheeks: on 
the contrary, she raises her proud 
head above the deriding crowd, 
and with eyes unabashed, looks 
down upon them with independent 

To the prison she is followed by 
the howling, jeering crowd; and, 
when the gates grate dismally be- 
hind her, she swoons, — so great 
has been the strain on her mind 
and body. 

The rabble, with vengeful im- 
precations, turn from the frowning 
prison walls, while to her lonely 
cell is borne the deluded girl. 

The vast Palais de Justice is 
thronged by a breathless, excited 
multitude. The Revolutionary 
Tribunal is there ; Tinville is 
there with his indictments; La- 
garde is there with his fair de- 
fendant. Tinville arises. He 
breaks forth into an eulogium of 

"He was a monster!" brusquely 
interrupted Charlotte. 

The prosecutor brings forward 
evidences of her guilt. 

"These details are needless," 
puts in the girl. "I killed Marat. 
He has brutalized the French. I 
killed this beast to give peace to 
my country." 

At these words, a murmur of ad- 
miration runs through the court- 

In spite of her confession, how- 
ever, the self-accused affects a 
wish to have all the judicial for- 
malities gone through, and she 
charges Lagarde to defend her, 
deprecating at the same time a 
plea of insanity. A few brief re- 
marks, expressive of admiration 
at his client's conduct, and the 
advocate gives way to the men of 
law. An opposer of their schemes 
of "liberty, fraternity, equality," — 
a murderess? The doom is death. 

It is the evening of the great 
trial. The overcast heavens re- 
produce in blackness the dark 
deeds which have that day trans- 
pired in the great metropolis, as 
from the gate of the Conciergerie, 
issues forth the fatal cart. Seated 
therein, clothed in the red gown 
of a murderess, beautiful, calm, 
scorning the unpitying rabble, de- 
spising death, Charlotte Corday 
goes to meet her doom. 

Unpitied, this demented girl- 
liberator % Absurd. See those 
hats removed in reverence as she 
passes, hear those many shouts, 
akin in meaning to the sentiment 
advanced by Lux of Mentz in the 
face of the Revolutionists, that 
Marat's assassin was greater than 



The Place de la Revolution is 
reached. Charlotte is bound ; she 
trembles not: the dreadful blade 
is freed, and on another soul 
bursts the dawn of the great open 
day of eternity. Oh! that inhu- 
man shout. Aye ! give vent to 
the abundance of your hearts, 
actors in a hell-born drama. 

But see! the executioner uplifts 
the severed head, and bestows a 
wanton blow on the tinged coun- 
tenance. Iniquity has surpassed 
itself, and at this gross insult, a 

momentary burst of popular indig- 
nation is directed against the vile 
menial of the law. 

Charlotte Corday is no more, 
Marat is no more ; and will the 
dire spirit that influenced the 
arch-revolutionist be now no more? 
Futile thought. For that mad as- 
sassin's deed, — a deed which ex- 
cites an intermingling of horror 
and pity, failed of its purpose, and 
brought to the fair land of Char- 
lotte Corday "not peace, but a 

Joseph M. Walsh, '03. 


[The author acknowledges his indebtedness to Gayarre's erudite History of 
Louisiana, for the details of this narrative.] 

'HpHE dawn of the 18th century 
-*- was already far advanced. 
Within the log palisades of the 
French fort at Natchitoches a 
group was gathered about a shag- 
gy-haired, wild-eyed and rough- 
visaged man, who filled the dou- 
ble role of spokesman and hero. 
He was relating a touching and 
thrilling narrative, — that of his 
own bitter experiences. Even to 
this day the story rehearsed at 
many a family fireside in Louisi- 
ana finds a responsive echo in the 
hearts of its hearers. 

"Now that you have been re- 
freshed, Monsieur Belle-Isle," 
eagerly spoke the commandant in 
the name of all, '*be so kind as to 
tell us about your painful wander- 
ings, your long captivity among 
the Indians, and your wonderful 

"Your wish will be granted, my 
generous deliverers," began the 
grateful Belle-Isle, in a voice fal- 
tering from emotion, "the hearty 
welcome you have given me to 
your roof and board more than 
entitles you to command me in 
any manner you please." 

"Let us listen to the stirring 
tale !" cried they all. 

"You must know, then, my good 
friends, that our ill-starred ship, 
the gallant Rodeur, left the shores 
of sunny France over three years 
ago, — and long and weary years 
have they been forme! Besides 
the officers and crew there were 
on board a company of soldiers 
and one hundred convicts, intend- 
ed for the colony of Louisiana. 
We were bound for the mouth of 
the Great River explored by De 
Soto; but, through some mishap, 



we lost our reckoning, and after 
wandering about for several days, 
finally entered an inlet many miles 
to t he west of our destined port, 

"No sooner bad we cast anchor 
than a contagious disease, very 
loathsome in its effects, broke out 
among the convicts. Allard, De 
Lisle, Legendre, Corlat and my- 
self, all officers in the king's ser- 
vice, deeming it to be the height 
of cruelty to allow these poor 
wretches to remain on board ship 
in such an atmosphere of death, 
determined to go ashore and es- 
tablish at least a temporary camp 
for the sufferers. 

"So, one morning we lowered a 
boat and had ourselves rowed to 
the mainland. While we live, 
provided with an ample store of 
provisions and ammunition, went 
in search of a fitting locality, the 
sailors were engaged in trans- 
porting fresh water to the ship. 
Late in the evening we returned 
to the beach and looked for the 
Rodeur. She was no more in 
sight! — and the boat, too, was 
gone ! Long and anxiously we 
scanned the distant horizon ; but 
night came on, and we were still 
peering into the veil-like mists of 
the blue expanse. All in vain ! 
We never saw or heard aught of 
our goodly ship and its stricken 
burden. You, perchance, may 
have had tidings of the Rodeur? 
No ? Perhaps, then, it was en- 
gulfed in one of those destructive 
storms that take theii rise in the 
Western Indies. May the bounti- 
ful God have had mercy on its 
unfortunate crew ! 

"But little was said about our 
forlorn situation. We were almost 
dumb with confusion. 'They have 
deserted us ! ' De Lisle ventured 
to remark. 'Impossible! ' I ex- 
claimed, striving to mask my real 
feelings under a guise of confi- 
dence; 'they will come back.' 

"We spent the night — for we 
cannot be said to have slept, — on 
the leafy ground, beneath the 
spreading branches of a great oak. 
The weird screechings of noctur- 
nal birds and the still more fear 
ful howlings of wakeful beasts of 
prey broke in upon our restless 
thoughts to lend additional woe 
to our desolate condition. 

"The next morning, and for 
many days to come, we eagerly 
paced the lonely strand watching 
for any sail that might perchance 
heave in sight. Our stock of pro- 
visions was soon exhausted, and 
our fire-arms became of no service 
to us. Hitherto an occasional ex- 
cursion into the interior had 
brought us some scanty food, but 
now, with no ammunition left, 
even this means of subsistence 
disappeared. A few nuts, clams, 
roots, and insects, — thrse com- 
prised our daily fare. Sometimes 
our wretched board was varied by 
a hare or wood-rat captured by 
my dog in his rovings through the 
forest. What a dainty morsel, 
what a precious tidbit to poor 
victims of starvation ! So much 
reduced were we that we deter- 
mined to kill even this faithful 
brute; but I had not the heart to 
execute the deed, and when some 
one else made the attempt, the 



noble creature scampered away 
through the bushes and never 
more returned. In our ingrati- 
tude begotten of insatiable hunger, 
we had driven away our sole 
earthly benefactor. 

"After a time, we resolved to 
move inland along a stream and 
make our way to some human 
habitation, be it of white man or 
Indian. The journey was painful 
in the extreme. Day by day we 
were looking more emaciated and 
our strength was fast waning. 
What a heart-appalling spectacle, 
to behold death's marble shadow 
growing whiter and deeper on the 
gaunt countenances of my starv- 
ing companions ! One after the 
other they dropped off on our 
wearisome march, and the survi- 
vors shed a loving tear and 
breathed a fervent prayer over 
the departed comrade. Allard 
was the first to succumb to the 
pangs of famine and the hardships 
of the weather; then followed De 
Lisle and Legendre; and a few 
days later, I laid Oorlat in his last 

"And now, what was to become 
of me, — alone in the pathless 
forest, weary, footsore, famished, 
wasting away by inches? In my 
agony of soul, I flung myself on 
my palsied knees and frantically 
begged the God who made me to 
smite me in his tender mercy and 
thus withdraw me from this ocean 
of overwhelming misery. I then 
threw myself down, determined 
to rise no more, but to pine away 
in hopeless grief. Still, after my 
mad outburst, I felt the love of 

life and the eagerness to cling to 
its attractions, yet holding vigor- 
ous sway within my breast ; and, 
forgetting for the nonce my des- 
perate condition, I proceeded to 
regale myself on some wild roots 
and a few hearty quaffs of the 
crystal liquid tripping gayly along 
at my feet. 

"One day, shortly afterwards, 
when I had partaken of a few nuts 
for my noonday meal, I lay 
down to rest my tired and aching 
limbs. I spent some hours in a 
state between sleep and delirium. 
When I finally awoke from my 
hideous reverie, I saw — no! I 
looked once more; I tremulously 
shaded my sunken eyes and gazed 
intently above the distant trees. 
There, — yes! I beheld a^ tiny 
wreath of bluish smoke curling 
heavenwards. At last! 

"In an instant I was up and 
moving wildly in the direction of 
this gladsome harbinger of free- 
dom. I was weak, and this sud- 
den outpouring of joy almost over- 
came my little remnant of strength. 
Several times I stumbled; but 
nothing could keep me from my 
cherished purpose ; buoyed up by 
a courage born of an undying hope 
and irresistible longing for safety, 
I still kept on my arduous way. I 
was but a stone's throw from my 
wished-for goal; I reeled, stag- 
gered, fell heavily to the ground, 
and became almost unconscious; 
the smoke rings vanished from my 
view. Was I about to lose my 
only chance of life ? 
"This despairing thought brought 
me to mv senses in a flash. J 



looked up. Standing over my 
prostrate form were two demon- 
like savages in full war paint, each 
armed with a gleaming tomahawk. 
I uttered what I intended to be a 
cry for mercy, but my parched 
throat gave forth only a labored 
gasp. I made a sign that I was 
hungry; they understood me, and, 
laying aside their weapons, helped 
me over to a group of Attakapas 
Indians gathered about a fire. 
They immediately put before me a 
stone platter containing cooked 
venison and herbs. Thinking 
nought of the uncertainty of my 
fate, I literally devoured the life- 
saving victuals. 

"I then watched and waited to 
see what they would do with me. 
Would they suffer me to live % Or, 
could it bethatlhadbeensnatched 
from death by starvation only to 
perish by the murderous toma- 
hawk f The chief men held a hasty 
conference ; after a few words had 
been exchanged, I could perceive 
by their gestures and motions that 
they had decided not to rob me of 
my newly acquired lease on exist- 
ence. They decreed I might live. 

"Yes, live ! But what a life ! The 
very next day they assigned me as 
a servant to an old widowed squaw. 
A veritable slave was I, — a 
drudge, — a cringing menial to my 
hard task-masters! For days and 
weeks and months, — even for 
eighteen long months, — I gathered 
fagots and drew water, kindled the 
early morning fire and swept the 
squalid wigwam, prepared the 
daily meals and cared for wayward 

Indian children ! Such was my 
life, such the wretched existence 
I dragged along during my cruel 

"At last, however, after much 
hoping and praying, even in the 
midst of my woe and despair, the 
day of deliverance came. My 
chains were snapped asunder ; my 
bonds were broken in twain ; the 
heart-crushing slavery saw an end. 

"Among my few personal effects 
was a small tin box, which my 
barbarian despots had permitted 
me to retain and which contained 
my commission as an officer and 
other papers. About two months- 
ago, this treasure was stolen from 
me and sold to a member of the 
Assinais tribe, your immediate 

"How this savage disposed of 
the box and its contents at the 
market-place; how your valiant 
governor, upon learning my fate T 
generously undertook and accom- 
plished my rescue; with what 
open-hearted hospitality you wel- 
comed the fugitive to your roof, — 
all this you already know but too 
well. But, gentlemen, my deep 
feelings of gratitude, my whole- 
souled appreciation of your boun- 
teous charity you can never com- 
prehend !" 

"Verily, Monsieur Belle-Isle r 
you have narrated a wonderful 
tale!" exclaimed the commandant 
of the fort. "Once more do we 
bid you welcome among us, your 
friends and countrymen, who join 
with you in thanking God for your 
almost miraculous deliverance." 
James C. Oasserly, '03. 


FICH was born in 1874 at 
Pola, in Austria. At an early age 
he began the study of music at 
Rovigno, a city twenty-five miles 
from Pola, under the direction of 
Professor Buresch, and subse- 
quently of Professor Merri- 
giolli, a graduate of the Con- 
servatory of Milan. 

Coming to America at the 
age of sixteen, he first lo- 
cated at Houston, Texas. 
Three years later he came 
to Mobile, where he estab- 
lished himself permanently 
in the practice of his pro- 
fession, at the same time 
perfecting himself under the 
distinguished Professors 
Staub and Schlesinger. 

Here the talented young 
musician soon became so 
prominentin musical circles 
that, in the year 1897, 
he was summoned by the 
Faculty of Spring Hill Col- 
lege to teach the Flute, 
Cornet and Mandolin in 
this institution, where 
music in all its fascinating forms 
has always held a high place. 

Since that time Professor Suf- 

fich has not only identified him- 
self with all the prominent musi- 
cal organizations of the College, 
but he has moreover given such 
uniform satisfaction as an accom- 
plished and painstaking teacher, 
that all who have come under his 

direction during the past four 
years are unanimous in testifying 
to his sterling worth. 

F. Marion Inge, ? 04. 


Mocking-bird, sing ! O sing ! 

Sing all the livelong day ! 
Make all the woodlands ring — 

Nightly retime thy lay ! 


T TB take pleasure in republish- 
" ing the Jubilee Odeofoursis- 
ter College of the Immaculate Con- 
ception in New Orleans. Since this 
famed educational institution cele- 
brated some months ago the fiftieth 
anniversary of its useful existence, 
it has made giaut strides on the 
road to improvement. The beau- 
tifying of the grand church con- 
nected with it together "with the 
erection of an imposing hall to be 
devoted to class rooms, are but 
the beginnings of the progressive 
work which will place this already 
well-equipped seat of learning far 
in the front rank among its com- 
peers in the South. 

On this thy day of jubilee, thy sons, 
O Alma Mater, would for thee entone 
A song of joy and love and gratitude 
From hearts which thou to virtue hast en- 
From parents' arms, all fresh and innocent, 
They to thy bosom come, for years to cling; 
Those years to them so slowly passing, aTe 
To thee, in life continuous ever young, 
But as the fleeting hours, while thy sons 
Do come and go as wavelets on the beach. 

A hundred years and more agone, 
Louisiana first did hail Loyola's sons, 
Where now there whirls th' electric tide of life; 
There on a grassy mound glad children play, * 
A granite shaft upbears a hero's form. 
They brought with them the plant whose life- 
blood could 
E'en mock the azure of our summer skies, t 
And oue that, bruised and crushed, gave sweet- 
ness forth— t 
Types of those virtues which they sought to 

Faith's heavenly hope, the sweets of Christian 

They came, they passed, too sad their tale to 

Their names, their memory forgot, save where 
Round Jesuit*' Bend the fl ivid waters swirl. 

Once more they came- by few were welcomed, 

The faith asleep, luxurious wealth prevailed. 
No rich foundation graced thy cornerstone, 
A scanty corner was thy early home. 
Thou hadst no fear, the Crescent City's name 

Was unto thee a sign; for she, whose type 
The crescent moon, foretold the rising sun, 
Presaged in misty morn thy brighter noon. 
This, Maisonnabe thy faith, thy trusty hope ; 
Thou, Cambiaso, left thy monument, 
The gorgeous fane, beloved shrine, well-known 
Of her, the Queen, Immaculate Conceived. 

Thy growth was slow, thy task was drear and 

T' enforce the bonds of discipline and teach 
Thy sons that science and the finer arts, 
Without Religion's blessing, go for naught. 

When war's alarum clanged and sister states 
Their oft-tried union rent, thy prayer was still 
For peace, yet not thy due to praise or ban 
Those claims, conflicting in discordant strife. 

There where the Southland flared her starry 

Thy sons were foremost in the van, and thou 
With tearful blessing, bad'st them bravely fight, 
Or, nobly falling —praying die. Where loudest 
Boomed war's dread artillery and wove 
The leaden web of death, their glory shone. 
Then Pere Hubert won deathless fame ; than he 
No braver, as our Beauregard proclaimed. 
The fight was done, the cause was lost, the flag 
In honor furled— its Cross alone remained. 
The Southland mourned, all pitted with their 


Thy sons, O Alma Mater, lent their voice 

To cheer, their minds to plan, their hearts to 

The task so arduous before them set; 
To raise the shattered state, the ranks 
To fill of honest labor, ceaseless toil. 
Their wealth was lost, their ease foregone ; 

Their faith in God, which thou didst teach, 
And those bright virtues following in its train. 
Where ermined justice sits on bench supreme, 
Where civic equity the law decrees, 
And there where eloquence the right sustains, 
And healing art to ailing nature hastes, 
Where busy commerce holds an honest scale 
We find them, and not last, nor least their worth. 
Thy stoled sons, when fell diseases rage, 
Kuow neither rest nor danger, theirs to shrive 
The dying and the weeping friends console— 
From pulpits sound the trump of God's own 

These are thy fruits, and these thy just rewards. 
Hail, tender Mother, thy sons bid thee all hail ! 
Ours may it be in future years to grace 
Thee with fresh laurels, crown thee with our 

At least, ever to love thee, guardian of our 


P. P. G. 

* R. E. Lee Circle, 
t Indigo. 
J Sugar-Cane 


HENRY IV. of France, on ac- 
count of his physical activity 
and powers of endurance, bore 
the sobriquet of "movement incar- 
nate." His passion for hunting is 
almost proverbial. 

One evening at the close of 
Autumn, he summoned his master 
of the horse and bade him have 
ready for him the next morning 
the swiftest courser his stables 
could furnish. 

"For," quoth he, "the sky is 
clear and the air is crisp, and to- 
morrow we must follow the hounds 
into the wild woods and give the 
stag a chance to show his graceful 
skill in running, and let Master 
Eenard display his cunning genius 
in eluding his canine pursuers." 

The morning dawned bright and 
fair and the royal courtyard rang 
with a joyous din ; servants hurry- 
ing to and fro with saddles and 
whips, obsequious valets attach- 
ing the spurs of the gentlemen, 
and gallant knights assisting the 
gay ladies to mount their horses. 
The noise was heightened by the 
cries of the pack, eager to slip 
from the leash, and the chargers 
champing the bit and incessantly 
neighing as if they knew that sport 
was at hand, and they could not 
curb their impatient ardor. 

While the excitement was at its 
highest, the king came upoD the 
scene, and with proud, elastic 
tread, walked over to examine the 
mount which was awaiting him. 
He was a colossal, well-formed, 

prancing steed of pure chestnut 
color, except for a white streak 
along his head. 

"A likely looking animal," mut- 
tered King Henry ; "I wonder if 
he is as fleet as he looks?" 

"I assure you he is, Your Maj- 
esty, for he has the reputation of 
being the swiftest horse in this 
part of the country," replied the 

"Very good," chuckled Henry, 
"But off to the chase." 

With that he sprang into the 
saddle, and with horns winding 
and hounds barking, they moved 
on to the chase. 

At the edge of the forest the 
dogs struck the trail -of a large 
stag, which led them towards the 
interior of the forest. Henry, with 
his speedy horse, in the enjoy- 
ment of the chase, outstripped 
them all, and left them far behind. 
In his fast ride he thought of noth- 
ing but the pleasure of the mo- 
ment and gave his steed full rein. 
The noble animal seemed fairly to 
fly over the ground; and Henry, 
in his delight, let him go on until 
he could no longer hear the bay 
of the dogs, and the shouts of the 

But suddenly the king seemed 
to realize his situation. Reining 
in his steed, he found himself 
standing in a dense forest. He 
was lost; and he could not trace 
his way back. 

Soon, however, he descried some 
thin smoke at a little distance 



ahead, and thither he turned his 
horse's head. On riding up he 
found it to be a cottage occupied 
by an aged peasant and his wife. 
He asked the old man to kindly 
give him lodging for the night, at 
the same time informing him that 
he was one of the king's courtiers, 
who had gone astray during the 

The countryman gave him a 
hearty welcome, and while he set 
about making preparations for 
supper, his wife went outside, and 
like Baucis of old, hobbled about 
the farm-yard, until she caught, 
if not her one solitary goose, at 
least, the largest and the plumpest 
chicken of the brood. When all 
was made ready, the old couple 
and their guest sat down, the for- 
mer little suspecting that the 
Majesty of France was supping 
under their roof. 

The king was hungry and showed 
his thorough appreciation of the 
appetizing repast. When supper 
was over, the peasant brought in 
a couple of bottles of excellent 
old wine. His Highness drank 
heartily, and was in a mood for 
jesting; so when the old man 
asked him about the king and told 
him how much he would like to 
see him, never having enjoyed 
such a privilege, Henry told him 
if he should wish to see the king 
to come with him on the morrow 
to a place appointed for a meet- 

"But how am I to tell who the 
king isf' asked the old man. 

"Well," replied Henry, "when 

the king comes into the midst of 
the huntsmen, all will take off 
their hats, and bow down their 
heads. He alone will remain 

"All right," said the old man, "I 
shall see him." 

The king had a peaceful night, 
and slept very well. When he 
arose in the morning he found his 
breakfast smoking on the table, 
for the old man was an early riser. 

After they had finished break- 
fast, they set out on their journey, 
Henry tendering heartfelt thanks 
to his gracious hostess. His 
companion chatted all the while 
and wondered how the king 
must look, while the king himself 
was ready to explode with laugh- 
ter at the joke he was playing on 
the unsuspecting swain, 

At last they reached the place 
of meeting, and found the royal 
party already in waiting. When 
Henry and his rustic host arrived 
upon the spot, all took off their 
hats and bowed profoundly. Then 
the king turned to the old man 
and asked: 

"Now do you know who the 
king isf 

"Upon my word!" replied the 
peasant, "It must be either you 
or I !" 

They all had a laugh at the ex- 
pense of the old man; neverthe- 
less, the king rewarded him hand- 
somely for his hospitality, remark- 
ing as he did so, that he had never 
enjoyed himself as heartily as 
during his short sojourn beneath 
his kindly roof. 

Clarence A. Costello, '02. 


WE often hear of rapid firing 
guns. What is a rapid 
firing gun? What conditions 
must it fulfil to be so designated? 

I shall endeavor to answer this 
question as clearly and precisely 
as possible. 

When a gun is to be fired, the 
breech being open, several suc- 
cessive steps must be observed. 
We first introduce the projectile 
into the bore, and then the load 
of powder; next the breech is 
closed, aim is taken and the gun 
is discharged. The gun recoils ; 
it is replaced in firing position, 
the breech is again opened, and 
the preceding operations are re- 

The first advance made towards 
quick firing was the encasing of 
the powder and the projectile in 
the same metallic cartridge. 4 By 
this means, one movement accom- 
plished what before required two. 

But other and greater difficul- 
ties had to be overcome. 

In the first place, the rapid 
firing gun will not profitably eject 
many projectiles in a short time, 
unless it can be trained for each 
shot in an equally short time; and 
this most important operation is 
impossible in the presence of 

smoke. Therefore, smokeless 
powder is to be used. Now, the 
smokeless powder first invented 
was not reliable when used in 
cannon, in this sense that the 
effect was often different for two 
successive shots. 

Again, that a rapid firing gun 
should be efficient, it is essential 
that its range be very long; in 
other words, that its initial veloci- 
ty be very great, because then the 
projectile follows an almost 
straight line. This facilitates 
quick, accurate aiming. 

Moreover, to give the projectile 
great velocity, the gun must be 
very long. Hence it is useless to 
attempt to transform one of the old 
guns into a quick firing machine. 

Finally, the recoil of the rapid 
firing gun is resisted by powerful 
springs, which automatically re- 
place the piece in firing position. 

With all these improvements 
guns four, five or six inches in in- 1 
ternal diameter, will easily fire 
ten or twelve shots a minute, with 
an initial velocity of between 2000 
and 3000 feet per second. 

The modern rapid firing gun is 
one of the most ingenious mechan- 
isms ever fashioned by the cun- 
ning hand of man. 

Henry L. Sarpy, '00. 


T .THERE is the boy who has 
^^ not been at some time or 
other either the hero of a daring 
deed or the victim of afoul plot — 
all in a dream? 

One has surprised an Indian 
camp and killed twelve of them 
single-handed ; another has been 
a great detective, and "got the 
drop" on a gang of train robbers 
and captured all of them ; while 
some one else, in the role of an 
African explorer, has had many 
desperate encounters with, and 
hair-breadth escapes from, the wild 
animals in the jungles of the Dark 

But I had a dream not long ago, 
in which I was not a hero, and so 
uncomfortable did I feel that 
night, and for some time after- 
wards, that I would not willingly 
choose to experience the like of it 
again — not even in a dream. 

I had been reading in the even- 
ing paper of the suicide of an un- 
fortunate man, once well-known 
to me. It was the old story: sud- 
den loss of fortune, temporary de- 
rangement of mind, and, I suppose, 
the devil's work, too. 

Well, the sad affair made a deep 
impression on me, and I could not 
dispel it. It followed me to bed, 
and kept rne awake till a late hour. 

Sometime during the night I be- 
came suddenly penniless by a 
great fall in grain in which I had 
invested extensively. I went 
down to Wall street and there the 
report was confirmed by every- 

body whom I met. I became rest- 
less, my temples began to throb 
violently, my head was aching and 
my brain was in a whirl. I wan- 
dered about the city aimlessly, 
poring over my loss. At last I 
grew weary and had to go home. 

There, on my desk, were piled 
bills and notices of every kind 
and description. The sight of 
them made my head ache more 
violently, and I turned and left 
the room after opening the first 
one. It was an urgent demand 
for a large sum. I tried to banish 
the thought, but wheresoever I 
went I was stared at by every- 
body, and my best friends shunned 

This mental agony was driving 
me mad ; I could bear it no longer. 
There was no peace, I thought, 
either of mind or body for me in 
the wide world; — the only rest for 
me, O dreadful thought, was in 
death! Instinctively I recoiled 
from it ; I knew it was wrong, but 
something goaded me on. 

Fully resolved to end my exist- 
ence, and to make a thorough, 
quick and sure work of it, I went 
to the nearest drug store and 
bought two ounces of arsenic; 
then I procured three fathoms of 
strong rope, one gallon of kero- 
sene oil, a box of matches and a 
thirty-eight calibre revolver with 
some bullets. 

Thus piepared, and filled with 
the dark thoughts that precede so 
dire a deed, I made my way slow- 



ly out of town, to where a small 
creek loses itself in the woods. I 
hired a boat, rowed about a mile 
up the stream, and came to what 
seemed a suitable place. From a 
large oak tree, a strong limb 
reached more than half way over 
the stream, just about ten feet 
higher than the water. 

I stopped rowing, dropped what 
served for an anchor, and made 
the rope fast to the limb over- 
head; the other end I adjusted 
with a sure knot around my neck. 
Then I poured the kerosene over 
my clothes, swallowed the arse- 
nic, touched my oil-soaked clothes 
off with the lighted match, then 
with the revolver aimed straight 
at mjr right temple, I pulled the 
trigger and kicked away the boat 
from under me at the same time. 
Bang ! — and 

No, it was not all over; this is 

what happened: the effort to kick 
away the boat moved my hand 
that held the revolver, and instead 
of blowing out my brains, the bul- 
let merely cut the rope just above 
my head, so that I fell into the 
water, and then the fire was extin- 
guished; now, as I was not pre- 
pared for that plunge into the 
water, I swallowed so much of it, 
that I was soon relieved of the 
deadly arsenic. But, if I had not 
known how to swim, I would sure- 
ly have drowned. And as that 
had not formed part of my plans, I 
forthwith struck out for the bank. 

And I awoke to find myself 
beating the air, in the act of swim- 
ming. The perspiration stood in 
beads on my forehead. My pulse 
was going like a steam-engine. 
By Jupiter! that was the worst 
dream I ever had; but I am thank- 
ful that it was only a dream ! 

T. Peyton Norville, Jr., '04. 


THE Spring season is on, and 
our poets are poetizing. One 
of these can be trailed by the 
reams of scribbled paper that 
strew the ground behind him. His 
friends pick them up at times, and 
write commentaries there-on. 

I submit a fragment that came 
into my possession with the com- 
mentaries annexed : 

"Sweet blooming spring, you're here 
again ! 

I'll spend my happy hours 
Roaming through the woodlands green, 

To pluck the smiling flowers." 

Whereto the commentator ap- 
pended : 

"You'll roam— nit ! 
If you do, you'll quit." 

But the poet continues: 

"I hear the syren songsters, 

That flutter in the air. 
pretty bird, where goest thtu 

In all thy beauty rare?" 

The commentator answered the 
poet's query thus : 

"The birdie is meandering 
Promiscuous through the blue; 

And having there a high old time; 
She's nothing else to do; 

She'll soon be poetastering, 
Just — like — you !" 

Evidently, exhausted nature 

could go no further, for here the 

ballad ended. 

John H. Kyan, '01. 


(With Profound Apologies to Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 1 

(Enter Antonio, Salarino andSolanio.) 

Antonio. In faith, I'm glad ! a feeling words cannot 
Describe, ajoyousness that knows no name, 
A happiness and peace with all the world 
O'erpowers me: but whence it comes, the cause, 
The thing itself, quite puzzles me. Methinks 
My spirit thus so light will rise above 
The plotting human egotism, the thin, 
Transparent film of honesty that men 
Throw o'er deceit, and, spurning earthly cares, 
Will soar on its felicity thro' space. 

Salarino. Your soul untrammelled roves the pastures o'er, 
And finds delight in walking with your kind 
Thro' winding paths and stately oaks and groves, 
Like Croesus visiting his counting-house, 
Rich in possession of their tender love. 

Solanio. Believe me, sir, were I in friends so blest, 

My mind would w r ander forth to keep for aye 

Companionship with those I love so dear ; 

And e'en as doth the needle seek the pole, 

My heart would turn where fond attraction draws. 

I could not gaze upon a silv'ry cloud 

But straightway I would see my sister's face; 

Recall how oft', beside my couch, with soft 

And cooling touch, she soothed my fevered brow, 

And smoothed the ruffled frown when Temper claimed 

Predominance ; aud all the gentle, sweet, 

Kind, thoughful acts my heart cau ne'er forget. 

I'd see my brothers in the babbling brook, 

Playfully dancing over rocks unseen 

In sheer delight ; or tumbling noisily 

Thro' narrow gorge like t' other in the wild 

Rash boist'rousness of youth. At Holy Mass, 

Whilst thinking of the God who died for me. 

My mind would oft revert to childhood days, 

The heart-aches, trials, sacrifice for me 

My parents bore ;— a debt I ne'er can pay, 

Not e'en in part. But why all this? I know 

From love of kin doth spring Antonio's joy. 

Antonio. You wander far. A quarrel rash of late 

Hath severed me from kith and kin ; and e'en 
A father's wrath, a mother's tears, I've dared: 



And while my spirit boiled, I made resolve, 

Like blooded courser, once the rein, is slack, 

To take the bit, to go my own sweet way, 

And act my will. But staid affection came 

With cooling blood ;— and then I felt bereft. 

None judges truer freedom's charms than he 

Who liberty has forfeited ; and none 

Can better know the worth of loving hearts 

Than he who friendship's bond has torn in twain. 

Yet, launched on Life's wild sea, alone, bereft, 

And forced to struggle with an angry tide 

That baffles, overwhelms and stifles me, 

I feel my spirit buoyant all within. — 

You see 'tis not of love of kin my joy is born. 

Salarino. Then some fair maid, in sooth, has won your heart, 
And holds you well within the charmed orb. 

Antonio. Fie ! fie ! in jumping at conclusions, friend, 

Wise men should look before they leap. No, no ! 
I am from woman's witcheries immune. 

Salarino. Not in love either? Then mayhap you are glad 
Because you are not moody , 'twere as well 
For you to mope and weep, and go about 
With coffin face, and say that you are sad 
Because not merry. By th' Olympic Jove, 
Nature has wrought most wondrous freaks, indeed ! 
Some who with sombre mien and long-drawn face 
Walk to the measure of a funeral march, 
And smile like Death's head on a monument; 
And others, that immod'rate laugh anent 
The very grave they are to occupy ; 
Upon whose grinning face a sober thonght 
Would alien seem; who could not e'en refrain 
From boist'rous mirth, tho' Falstaff on his knees 
Bent low and begged them to be serious. 

Jack McGrath, 



Quae tibi, Virgo parens, grati munuscula cordis 

Quae tanto dabimus pignora signa die ? 
Non solitas satis est aris imponere laudes, 

Plura sed offerimus carmina, quisque suum. 
Te spirante novus successit fervor in omnes, 

Et firmo divus pectore crevit amor. 
Accipe nunc, Mater, votivo in carmine grates, 

Accipe votorum dona precesque pias. 


AT sunset of a golden May day 
we were all seated beneath 
the shady veranda that fronts our 
home. Uncle Joe had just re- 
turned from a prolonged trip 
abroad, and, in his own graphic 
style, was narrating his experi- 
ences in foreign parts, notably his 
month's sojourn among the Boers 
in South Africa. 

The most interested listener was 
myself, for the subject of the En- 
glish prize composition given in 
class that day was "The Boers." 
And here what an excellent op- 
portunity for culling facts and in- 
cidents ! I hearkened with rapt 
attention to every word of the 
wonderful story. 

"The Dutch," said my uncle, 
after giving the details of his visit, 
"migrated from the mother coun- 
try, and settled Cape Colony in 
1652. From that period until the 
invasion of Holland in 1806 by 
Napoleon, they lived peacefully 
and happily. Then, for protection 
their little colony was entrusted 
by the mother country to their 
British ally, and after Napoleon's 
downfall, formally handed over to 

"But the freedom-loving Boers 
had no wish to be governed by 
alien laws, and they rebelled. 
And oh ! with what severe pros- 
ecutions and cruel executions was 
that rebellion suppressed. They 
might be overwhelmed and con- 
quered, but not enslaved; and so 
those ten thousand men, women 

and children left British territory 
and found for themselves a new 
home in the wilds of Africa. 

"In this trackless region, which 
was inhabited only by fierce beasts 
and savage men, they settled, — 
settled on land purchased from 
the native tribes. Who can de- 
scribe the hardships which they 
endured here ? The barren, uncul- 
tivated soil, the incursions of hos- 
tile savages, and the dangers from 
wild beasts, added to the many 
privations which they had to en- 
dure, are but a partial enumera- 
tion of their sufferings. 

"The industry and sturdy quali- 
ties of the Boers were soon at- 
tended by prosperity, and this 
was the signal for England to 
annex their country. Of course 
they took up arms in defence of 
their hearths and homes, but were 
beaten ; and again, rather than be 
enslaved, pushed on into the un- 
claimed interior of Africa. But 
the English again molested them, 
and in desperation they crossed 
the Vaal river, determined to make 
there a final stand. Here, after 
undergoing a repetition of their 
former hardships, they succeeded 
in setting up a little republic, and 
called it the Transvaal State. 

"The hardy Boers now prevailed 
upon England to recognize offi- 
cially their independence, and the 
Vaal river was made the inter- 
national boundary line. I saw 
with my own eyes the original 
treaty, which was ratified April 











15th, 1852, and which guaranteed 
to the Transvaalians freedom, in 
the fullest sense of the term. 

"The spirit of peace and happi- 
ness now breathed throughout the 
infant republic; but a cloud hov- 
ered over it. The sight of a valu- 
able diamond from the country of 
her Dutch neighbors, excited the 
avarice of Great Britain, and 
forthwith she laid claim to the 
precious region. The little re- 
public was coerced into ceding to 
the dominant power, for £90,000, 
the district now including the 
Kimberley mines which yield 
millions of dollars yearly. 

"The sturdy people across the 
Vaal had to suffer anew, as I said, 
their former hardships, and among 
these, the worst by far were the 
wars with the natives. History 
can offer no parallel strifes in 
point of fierceness. The gallant 
Boers were successfully repelling, 
and would soon have put a final 
stop to these savage incursions, 
when a most undesirable interven- 
tion came about. 

"In 1877 the English agent to the 
Transvaal, Sir Theophilus Shep 
stone, in the name of his Govern- 
ment, and, undoubtedly, with the 
best of intentions, proposed to the 
little republic the feasibility of 
coming under the protection of 
her Majesty. The President of the 
State placed the proposition 
before the people and it was 
unanimously rejected. 

"But in spite of all this, in spite 
of her solemn treaty, England, on 
the 12th of April, 1877, deputed 
Sir Theophilus Shepstone with a 

proclamation which declared the 
Transvaal State British territory. 
Less than two years later, this 
high-handed measure received 
official approbation. The death- 
knell of the Transvaal was 

"But the down-trodden Boers 
chose rather to die than be slaves 
They took up arms. They fought. 
They withstood, with a courage 
not seen since the strife at Ther- 
mopylae, the well-trained British 
hosts. Up the steep Majuba Hill 
they dashed, those 450 burghers 
and boys, and with the loss of but 
1 man killed and 5 wounded, 
they slew, maimed or captured 
one-half of the 600 foes, and sent 
the rest whirling down the ascent. 

"Then, at their earnest petition, 
in the convention of 1881, the 
Boers were reinstated in their 
freedom and independence, sub- 
ject, however, to England's suze- 
rainty, which then stood defined 
'certain rights, as to daaling with 
the native tribes and foreign pow- 

"But the Boers soon learned to 
fear that word 'suzerainty'. They 
besought England, in 1884, to 
drop the term from the treaty, 
which she most graciously did. 
She still, however, denied them the 
right to treat with any external 
nations, states or tribes without 
her approval. 

"That fetter removed, the Trans- 
vaal State, in order to take away 
even the remote appearances of 
old relations with Great Britain, 
changed its name to the South 
African Republic. 



"A few years ago occurred the 
Jameson Raid, as you well know. 

"And now, a countless British 
host is moving against the capi- 
tal of the South African Republic. 
President Kruger has proposed to 

England to settle their differences 
by arbitration. But no, the little 
republic is coveted; and the cry 
of the grand old President and 
his brave burghers is 'Liberty or 

Robert A. Flatjtt, '03. 


J DO not write about St. Ber- 
nard Parish because it had the 
honor of giving me birth, though 
some of my friends, with a pecu- 
liar inflection of voice, kindly re- 
marked that this would be quite a 
sufficient reason. No, its roman- 
tic and traditionary lore, the stim- 
ulus given within its precincts to 
one of our greatest American in- 
dustries, the fact that here the 
final historic seal was put upon 
our country's independence, make 
the story of old St. Bernard of 
thrilling interest, not only to the 
citizens of New Orleans, but to 
every patriotic American. 

Though not within the limits of 
New Orleans, it is so near as to be 
practically identified with it. You 
can take a car from town on any 
fine morning, see all St. Bernard, 
inhale the fresh breeze that blows 
from the bosom of the Mississippi, 
and get home in time and appetite 
for breakfast. 

St. Bernard extends south-east 
of New Orleans, twelve miles 
along the left bank of the Missis- 
sippi, from the Barracks to En- 
glish Turn and thence by Bayou 

Terre-aux-Boeufs and Lake Lery 
to the sea. 

One of its boundaries "English 
Turn" or "Detour des Anglais," was 
so designated because a force of 
English who reached this point in 
1621, retraced their steps, after hav- 
ing been informed by the Marquis 
de Bienville that the flag of France 
was already there, and there to 

The colony was called St. Ber- 
nard in 1798, after its founder, 
Governor Bernardo Galvez. The 
city of Galveston also received its 
name from him, when later on he 
became Viceroy of Mexico. It 
was Galvez who founded St. 
Maurice, the old church of upper 
St. Bernard ; and he also had the 
good taste to select here a Creole 
lady for his wife. 

No visitor to New Orleans 
should fail to drive along the river 
and make a pilgrimage to the his- 
toric homes and scenes that dot 
its banks. 

There is "Saxenholm," where 
lives a scion of the house of 
Washington. This ancient manor 
contains rare tapestries and paint- 



ings and pieces of black oak ex- 
quisitely carved, and souvenirs of 
English kings and queens ; but its 
chief interest to us, Americans, 
lies in the fact that it contains 
numerous relics of George and 
Martha Washington. 

Half a mile to the south-east, 
you will pass a ruined brick pile 
where lived Alexandria Petrowitz 
wife of the Czarowitz of Russia, 

beautiful grounds. Take off your 
hat, if you are a good Southerner, 
for here was born General G. T. 

"The Captain of the South 
Who led his men so gallantly 
Up to the cannon's mouth." 

This is now the residence of 
Judge Beauregard, one of the Gen- 
eral's sons. Another son of the 


(Through courtesy of New Orleans Picayune./ 

who was banished by the Czar in 
1722. After an eventful career, 
she died here in great poverty 
and was buried near these ruins. 

After passing many line old 
plantation homes of the Colonial 
type, y° u will be sure to notice 
one distinguished by broad galler- 
ies, and great white pillars and 

General occupies a still more his- 
toric building, the Bonzano House. 
It was here that the Marquis de La- 
fayette was first received, when, 
having come to America in 1825 
to assist in laying the foundation 
stone of the Bunker Hill Monu- 
ment, he visited New Orleans. 
He was rowed down the river and 



received in this house by the Gov- 
ernor, Mayor and officials of state. 

Lafayette was invited to make 
his stay here because during the 
great battle of New Orleans which 
preserved the liberties that the 
great Frenchman had helped to 
win, General Jackson made this 
residence his headquarters. 

Near this is Chalmette, the scene 
of the great battle of New Orleans, 
where four or five thousand 
American farmers under Jackson 
put ten thousand of Wellington's 
English veterans to flight. 

Turn your eyes to the historic 
monument that rises over the 
scene of Jackson's victories. I 
will not describe it for I grieve to 
say that it is not finished yet. If 
the citizens of New Orleans are so 
forgetful of their city's fame as to 
neglect this work, I trust the 
good people of St. Bernard will 
themselves see to the completion 
ol the noble shaft. 

And here a word will be in 
place about Bayou Barataria, 
around which the most romantic 
memories of St. Bernard Parish 
are entwined. 

It was called Barataria from a 
Creole word, barateur, or barato, 
signifying cheap, for here were 
sold the goods captured or smug- 
gled by the pirates of Jean La- 

Lafitte claimed to be no pirate, 
but a privateer in the service of 
some South American republic, 
and so persuaded, witli ready wit, 
and clever device, the Louisiana 
government for many years. Ban- 
ished at length, he made Galves- 

ton his headquarters, where he 
kept a fleet of ships manned by a 
thousand sailors. Expelled thence 
by Captain Kearney, he assisted 
in the escape of Napoleon from 
Elba. Traditions vary as to his 
subsequent career. But be he 
pirate or privateer, let it be said 
to his honor, that he refused a 
large reward and high command 
from General Pakenham to guide 
the English to New Orleans ; that 
he it was who informed the Gov- 
ernor of the Englishmen's ap- 
proach, and that he and his men 
manned the artillery under Jack- 
son on the field of Chalmette. 

It is a long cry from martial 
glory and romance to sugar! But 
sugar is a good thing, and the first 
sugar produced in Louisiana was 
made in St. Bernard Parish. It 
was the Jesuits who, in 176 L, first 
introduced the sugar-cane here. 
But all attempts to granulate it 
were unavailing till after many 
failures Don Antonio Mendez, 
who had a plantation in St. Ber- 
nard Parish, finally succeeded in 
1791. Hundreds had assembled 
to witness the experiment, and 
when Mendez cried out : "Ca gran- 
ule, ca granule !" all the specta- 
tors shouted : "Vive le Sucre ! 
Vive la Louisiane !" 

St. Bernard is also a great meat 
depot. This useful commodity 
one finds fresh and plentiful in 
the great Slaughter House in St. 
Bernard, in whose immense pens 
hecatombs of Texas steers are 
daily slaughtered to appease the 
appetites of the citizens of New 



From the slaughterers of cattle 
you appropriately turn to the 
abode of the slaughterers of men, 
the United States Barracks, a 
strongly fortified building where 
the defenders of our country are 
fittingly housed near the battle- 
field of Ohalmette. 

One word before closing, about 
the Ursulines ; for though their 
Convent is outside the limits of 
St. Bernard, they are inseparably 
connected with its history. The 
ladies of our parish have received 
their education within its walls 
and within them stands the altar 
of Our Lady of Prompt Succor, 
before which, in 1815, these holy 
women prayed for three days that 
Jackson and his men might win 

the day. On the third day Father 
(afterwards Bishop) DuBourg said 
Mass at that altar for the same 
purpose ; and when, at the mo- 
ment of Communion, a courier 
rushed in and announced the vie 
tory, the good father, joined by 
all the sisters, entoned the Te 
Deum. Next day Jackson wrote, 
thanking the father and the nuns 
and acknowledging the interposi- 
tion of Heaven. 

Jackson's letter is treasured in 
an antique box in the Ursuline 
Convent, and with it an auto- 
graph letter of Thomas Jefferson, 
thanking the sisters for the great 
services they had rendered Lou- 
isiana and America. 

Arthur E. Maumus, '00. 


While camping out one summer's day 

Upon a hillock's crest, 
Within my tent a busy wren 

Strove oft to build her nest. 

u O little wren, why comest thou 

Unto my tent so oft? 
Unto the the trees betake thyself 

And build thy nest aloft." 

No answer made the tiny wren, 
She hopped about unscared; 

Then placed a straw in the sheltered 
And to the woods repaired. 

At eve I peered within my tent, 

A mossy nest I found. 
That night each sprig and tiny twig 

Were scattered on the ground. 

Three times the wren did build her 

Three times essayed in vain; 
Still fearless, chirping merrily, 

To ray roof, she came again. 

But now, alas ! my tent is struck ;— 

The wren no more I'll see ; 
I trust she has somecomelier site, 

Some free and sheltering tree. 

Now perseverance I must learn 

From this my winged friend, 
And when my hopes are barred and 

To work unto the end. 

Louis Pfistek. in. 



Now the days of June are coming, 

Coming slowly thro' the May ; 
And our heart-beats fast are drumming 
To the tune our lips are humming, 

" Hurry up, sweet Twentieth Day ! "" 


For that day we're eager waiting, 

When all ills shall pass away ; 
Waiting thro' each hour so grating 
And each anxious minute dating, 

Dating to the Twentieth Day ! 


But, the days and hours are flying, 

Flying into sweet decay ! 
Joy is vying with our sighing, 
And our sorrows all are dying, — 

Thinking of the Twentieth Day ! 



TT^OUK years of heroic struggle, ject of great importance, and now 
■*- and the soldiers of the Con- they determined to put their pro- 
federacy were about to give up ject into execution, 
the unequal contest. Bravely had Major- General Gordon Granger 
they fought against fearful odds, during the latter part of July had 
and nobly had they sacrificed been sent to cooperate with Ad- 
all, — except honor. miral Farragut, and on the 5th of 
The once grand and almost in- August the two appeared at the 
vincible army of Tennessee had entrance of the Bay. Large in- 
now only fifteen hundred half-clad deed was this force, numbering 
and famished veterans. To these fourteen steamers and four moni- 
staunch survivors of many bloody tors carrying in all over two hun- 
battles came the command to dred guns. But serious obstacles- 
fortify Spanish Fort, on the east- stood in the way. Before these 
ern shore of Mobile Bay. The vessels could safely venture up 
Federals had long contemplated the Bay, two forts, not to be 
the possession of this port as an ob- despised, and a bed of torpedoes 

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had to be passed. These dangers, 
great as they were, did not deter 
the Federals. 

Steadily up the ship channel 
moved their immense fleet. The 
critical moment had now come. 

The Brooklyn wasin the lead and 
so destructive a broadside fire did 
she maintain, that in a short time 
the batteries of Fort Morgan were 
almost silenced. There was yet 
one more difficulty to be sur- 
mounted — the bed of torpedoes. 
As the Federal fleet was steaming 
past the fort, a frightful explosion 
was suddenly heard, and in a few 
seconds the Tecumseh, an iron- 
clad, was at the bottom of the 
Bay with her commander and 
nearly all her crew. 

From behind the fort dashes out 
the Tennessee, a Confederate iron- 
clad, direct for the Federal flag- 
ship, but to no avail. Farragut 
had forseen this and had his star- 
board side protected by his moni- 
tors. The Tennessee alter ex- 
changing a few harmless shots 
returns to her former place. 

The contest was now carried on 
by the three remaining boats, the 
Selma, Morgan and Gaines. Short 
was the battle, but decisive were 
its resul ts. The Gaines was forced 
to retire in a sinking condition, 
leaving her two companions to 
continue the fight. Nobly did 
these two wooden vessels uphold 
their cause, and for a time spread 
consternation among the enemy. 

Farragut ordered the M eta- 
comet and two other gun boats, 
which had remained lashed to 
some of his ships, to be cast off. 

The course of the Confederate 
vessels up to this had been south- 
west, but seeing three vessels of 
light draft headed direct for them, 
the Selma pointed north-west run- 
ning up the Bay at full speed, and 
for a time was pursued by the 
Metacomet. Soon after, the Mor- 
gan directed her course south-east 
seeking shallow water. The Meta- 
comet closely pursued her but a 
heavy rain squall broke forth and 
for a while the vessels were hid 
from one another. The rain lasted 
for over a quarter of an hour and 
when the veil of darkness was 
drawn, the Metacomet was seen 
pursuing the Selma. The Morgan 
sped on to her relief but was too 
late; the Selma hoisted the white 
flag without any further fighting. 

From a naval court of inquiry, 
called to investigate the conduct 
of the battle, it appears that there 
was no combination between the 
Morgan and the Selma after the 
Metacomet was cast loose. Ac- 
cording to Admiral Buchanan 
both vessels encountered the 
Metacomet, but during the thick- 
est of the fight, the Morgan with- 
drew leaving the Selma to her 
own fate. It is indeed fortunate 
that the two did not combine, for 
had they done so, they wouM 
have been surely destroyed. 

After the surrender of the Selma* 
Admiral Harrison of the Morgan 
conducted his movements with 
remarkable skill; having called 
his officers together, and made 
known to them that he intended 
to reach Mobile, the majority were 
against this adventurous trip> 



since to accomplish it he would 
be obliged to run through the 
enemy's line. 

The moon was up in all its 
glory, the waves had ceased their 
roaring, and left the vast stretch 
without a ripple, when the Mor- 
gan set out. From afar her black 
smoke could be seen ascending 
skyward. Yet she succeeded in 
passing the enemy, though not un- 

Three of the Federal boats im- 
mediately took up the chase, and 
for a long time it appeared as if 
they would overtake the daring 
adventurer. Mauy shots from their 
guns passed over her, others did 
her damage, yet not once did the 
Confederate cannon return the 
fire. At last the Morgan succeed- 
ed in reaching the obstructions 
near the city, where she defied pur- 
suit from the enemy. 

During the engagement be- 
tween the Selma, Morgan and Me- 
tacomet, the Tennessee received 
her death blow. She had deter- 
mined to give battle, and directed 
her first shot at the Hartford. It 
was a dangerous venture ; for al- 
though protected by several 
inches of iron, she alone was to 
fight nearly the whole Federal 

Farragut issued orders to use 
not merely the guns, but also the 
bow of the boats against the Ten- 
nessee. The doomed vessel was 
soon sunounded; she was at- 
tacked by three ships, the Monon- 
gahela, the Lackawanna and the 
Hartford. From the port side of 
the latter, when only ten feet 

away, came a destructive broad- 

The Tennessee was still afloat, 
but her steering chains were car- 
ried away, and she was left un- 
manageable. The Federals with- 
drew to prepare for another 
onset, more injurious than the 
first, and were strengthened by 
two more of their ships. They 
advanced at full speed, expect- 
ing to sink their adversary. Ad- 
miral Buchanan, perceiving that 
all was lost, hastily hoisted a 
white flag. 

The enemy's victory, however, 
was not complete. The forts 
were still held by the Confeder- 
ates, though with little hope of 
resisting the combined assault of 
the naval and land forces. On 
the 8th of August Fort Gaines was 
attacked, and compelled to sur- 
render. On the 9th, Fort Morgan 
was besieged in its turn, and after 
a severe bombardment by land 
and sea, surrendered on the 23rd. 
The total number of men cap- 
tured was 1464, together with 104 
pieces of artillery. Although this 
gave the North command of the 
fort, Mobile itself remained in the 
hands of the Confederates for sev- 
eral months more. 

The Battle of Mobile Bay was 
considered by the Federals the 
most glorious of naval engage- 
ments, aud exalted above the 
deeds of Nelson at Trafalgar and 
on the Nile. Grand banquets were 
prepared by them for their hero, 
and poets sang his praises. In a 
word, he was immortalized by his 
over-enthusiastic admirers. But, 




whilst giving full credit to Farra- 
gut for his skill and bravery, it 
must be remembered that in this 
naval contest the Federals had 
eighteen vessels, carrying 212 
guns, while the Confederates had 
only four ships and twenty-four 
guns to oppose them. 

The Richmond Examiner made 
the following comment on this 
famous battle: 

"It was a most unequal strug- 
gle in which our gallant little 
navy was engaged, and we lost 
the battle; but our ensign went 
down in a blaze of glory." * 
Henry A, McPhillips, '00. 

*We have based our narrative on Pollard's able work, " The Lost Cause." It 
will be remembered that the Hero of Manila shared in this engagement as a 
lieutenant under Admiral Farragut. 


IN making an estimate of our lo- 
cality in the line of salubrity, 
we never fail to mention the bene- 
ficial effect of the resinous pines 
on the surrounding atmosphere. 
Hear what the U. S. Government 
reports have to say about their 
size and timber-producing capac- 
ity. We take the following from 
"The Timber Pines of the South- 
ern United States" issued by the 
Department of Agriculture, Divi- 
sion of Forestry, page 38. 

"Upon 1 acre, selected at random in 
the untouched forests north of Spring 
Hill, Mobile County, very open and 
free from smaller trees or undergrowth, 
16 trees were counted above 16 inches 
in diameter at breast high, namely, 2 
trees 23 inches in diameter at breast 
high, estimated length of timber, 40 
feet; 2 trees 20 inches in diameter at 
breast high, estimated length of tim- 
ber, 40 feet; 12 trees 16 to 18 inches in 

diameter at breast high, estimated 
length of timber, 35 feet, which in the 
aggregate would yield about 5,000 feet, 
board measure. 

"Upon another acre plat of the same 
quarter section, 64 trees above 12 inches 
in diameter at breast high were found ; 
of these 2 trees measured 20 inches in 
diameter at breast high, estimated 
length of timber, 40 feet; 26 trees meas- 
ured 17 inches in diameter at breast 
high, estimated length of timber, 36 
feet; 36 trees measured 13 inches in 
diameter at breast high, estimated 
length of timber, 24 feet. 

"Upon a third plat exceptionally 
heavily timbered, 45 trees were counted, 
of which 5 trees were 25 inches in di- 
ameter at breast high, the clear timber 
averaging 50 feet in length; 12 trees 22 
inches in diameter at breast high, 
length of timber, 50 feet; and 28 trees 16 
to 18 inches in diameter, average length 
ot timber estimated at 30 feet. Such a 
stand would indicate a yield of mer- 
chantable timber of at least 15,000 feet, 
board measure, to the acre." 



'Tis Sabbath morn and Mary kneels in prayer ; 

With pangs untold her bosom seems to smart, 

Wan are her cheeks, her lips in sorrow part ; 
How stream her eyes, upturned in grief and care ! 
Once more, she thinks she hears the blows that tear 

His hands, His feet, and pierce her mother's heart, 

Afore by Simeon told, with sorrow's dart. 
Once more that heavy thud, which plants in air 
The cruel cross, whence hangs — Ah ! balefulest sight ! — 
Her bleeding Son. Once more, that woefulest cry, 
Hark ! "Father ! Father !" ere He bows to die, 
Thrills through her inmost soul. — Yet in this plight 
Supreme she speaks no word, she heaves no sigh ; 
Transfixed she kneels in griefs ecstatic height. 


But whence the rays that sudden fill the air ? 

Haply the smiling dawn appears? — Nay, nay ; 
More glorious far these beams than break of day. 

Lo ! there He stands, her risen Son ; how fair 

His face, how sweet His smile ; His brow and hair 
A halo circles round of dazzling ray, 
While brightening streams of glory gently play 

From both His sacred hands and feet, e'en where 
The nails but lately tore. But where before 
The lance His heart had pierced, now bursts a light, 
Fairer than thousand moons and tenfold more, 
Brighter than thousand suns and ten times o'er. — 

Still flow the mother's tears, but in delight, 

As rapt she kneels in joy's ecstatic height. 



ERY, one ol the most promi- 
nent of Spring Hill's alumni, who 
has acquired a national reputa- 
tion, was born at Monroe, La., 
May 28th, 1837. 

From Spring Hill College, 
which he attended in the early 
fifties, he passed to the United 
States Naval Academy, at Anna- 
polis, then through the University 
of Virginia, and finally graduated 
from the National Law School at 
Poughkeepsie, N. Y. His career 
in each of these institutions was 
marked by his devotion to his 
books and a laudable desire for 

It was in 1859 that the young 
lawyer was admitted to the New 
York bar, and for about one year 
he practised his profession at 
Marysville, Mo., but returned to 
Louisiana just before the begin- 
ning of the Civil War. 

He entered the Confederate 
army as a lieutenant, and served 
in Virginia under Gen. Magruder, 
and in the trans-Mississippi de- 
partment, until the termination of 
hostilities. Then he resumed the 
practice of law in his native state. 

Mr. McEnery was admitted to 
the Louisiana bar in 1867, and two 
years later he was honored by his 
fellow-citizens with the office of 
Lieutenant-Governor. Upon the 
death of Governor Wiltz, he as- 
cended the executive chair in Oc- 
tober, 1881. 

So satisfactory was his adminis- 

tration that he was re-elected in 
1884, and his record will always 
be considered among the most ef- 
ficient that Louisiana or any other 
State has ever had. 

Governor McEnery represented 
the State not in a narrow, self- 
seeking way, but as a faithful, 
trusted, confidential agent repre- 
sents his employer ; and as its 
chief executive he was ever the 
state's "attorney in fact," always 
earnestly devoted to the interests 
of his fellow-citizens. With a heart 
broad as humanity itself, with an 
intelligent and cultivated brain, 
with the will and ability to act, 
Mr. McEnery is a born leader of 
men, and one of the greatest law- 
yers and statesmen ever produced 
by the Creole State. 

When General Nicholls was 
elected Governor of Louisiana in 
1888, he appointed ex-Governor 
McEnery to the responsible po- 
sition of Associate Justice of the 
Supreme Court. His career amid 
the onerous duties of this office, 
his wise counsels and judicious 
decisions are well known to all 
who have followed the history of 
the State during that period. 

Before his twelve years' term 
had expired, Judge McEnery 
was elected to the United States 
Senate in May, 1896, and on the 
fourth of March following, he be- 
came a member of that Assembly. 

During the eventful years that 
have passed since that time, 
Senator McEnery's voice has 



often been heard on all the mo- 
mentous questions that have occu- 
pied the attention of that honora- 
ble body. He is especially known 
to the world as the author of the 
Philippine Resolutions. 

Among the personal character- 
istics which have endeared Sena- 
tor McEnery to the people of his 

native state, and have helped to 
raise him step by step to the high 
distinction which he now enjoys, 
we may mention his abiding love 
of truth, justice and progress, and 
a cordial and kindly spirit, which 
makes warm friends and staunch 
adherents among men of every 
walk of life. 

P. Antonio Lelong, '00. 


TOWARDS the end of the 
fourth century, there was a 
bishop in Constantinople whose 
life was so holy that the Church 
has named him a saint ; and whose 
words were so eloquent that his 
hearers and all history have styled 
him Chrysostom, John of the 
Golden Mouth. 

He used his heaven-sent gift to 
battle against vice and the powers 
that sustained it, and hence could 
he say with his latest breath in 
distant Pontus whither he was ban- 
ished, "I loved justice and hated 
iniquity ; therefore do I die in ex- 

His plea for Eutropius is a mas- 
terpiece of its kind. This once 
powerful favorite is pursued by 
the indignant populace to the very 
steps of the altar, a refuge which 
Eutropius himself had abolished. 
And lol Chrysostom appears, 
and with uplifted hand stays that 
surging throng. 

His thrilling voice rings out 
and droAvns their wrath in a 
shower of golden eloquence. 

"Vanity of vanities, and all is 

Yes, the vanity of human things ! 
"But yesterday and Eutropius 
might have stood against the 
world. Now none so poor to do 
him reverence." And their hearts 
are softened and their heads are 
bowed. They, depart in silence, 
and no hand in all that throng has 
touched Eutropius. 

Would that the burning words 
of Chrysostom rang more often in 
human ears : 

"Since folly and deception and 
masked hypocrisy appear to men 
for true, it behooves each honest 
man at morn and noou and vesper 
hymn, in hall and mart, to say this 
word unto his neighbor and from 
his neighbor hear: 

" 'Vanity of vanities, and all is 
vanity!' " 

Carl E. Braun, '01. 


Or, The Meetin 

BY "tragic," we evidently refer 
to the primary Greek mean- 
ing of the word, "goatish." 

A visit paid by an unsophisti- 
cated kid to the Junior Study Hall 
not long ago has set our poets 
aglow, and as a result they have 
literally flooded us with effusions 
on the subject. We submit the fol- 
lowing, not so much because they 
manifest unusual wit, but because 
they possess the soul of wit, brevity. 

A kid came tramping in the hall 
Where students study hard,(?) 

And paid his brothers dear a call — 
For they had left the yard. 

He gazed about in dumb surprise, 

At all the kids there gathered; 
Then knowingly he winked his eyes 
And"hein!"-ed and"well I rather!"-ed. 

Of merriment he was the butt — 

But changed is all the glee: 
He "b-a-a"-ed the door (for 'twas not 

And butted merrily. 

"Your name?" " 'Tis Willyum Horn" — 
surprise — 

''And it I ne'er will hide!" 
He sighed six sighs of diff 'rent size, 

Then wope a weep,— yes, cried. 

''0! dry thy tears," said Buster Pipe, 

"Most kin' and gen'le goat!" 
The kid a damp sob then did wipe 

On Mario's new coat. 

A moment thus he held the floor, 

Looked sheepishly about, 
Then made a dash to gain the door 

And swiftly darted out. 

Jack McGrath, '02. 

g of the Kids. 

Then as a frightened glance he took, 
The rain-drops from his flanks he 

A moment gazed aloDg the floor, 
A moment glanced back to the door ; 
And listed to the merry giggle 
That lose while his small tail did 

But as a dangerous foe appeared, 
With one brave bound the steps he 

And stretching forward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths for his mama-r ! 
Yelled on the cheering boys, 
And rung the welkin with their noise. 
To many a mingled sound at once 
Th' awakened hall gave loud response, 
And fifty boys laughed deep and 

As poor little "Billy" skipped along. 
His "m-m-mey" melodious he cried 

And fifty voices joined the shout. 

Edward B. Dreaper, '02. 

The Juniors' Study ! Through the 

In leaped a kid ! and took the floor, 
With cautious step and ear awake, 
Fearful the silence deep to break. 

One balmy summer afternoon in May, — 

Now I won't swear to everything i 
say — 

The little boys were studiously en- 

But see! The prefect is — well,— quite 
enraged ! 

The door was open, and through it, all 

There sauntered in an unpretending 

He strode around, inspected all the 

And woke them from their studies by 

his noise. 

The prefect signed a pair of kids to face 

And from their sacred domicile to chase 

And these two kidlings— such is civili- 
zation ! 

Drove from their door, their nearest — 
yes— relation! 

B. Vaught, '01. 


MAY 2 

BOTH the Sun and the Moon 
appear to be discs of about 
the same size, moving through the 
stars of heaven. The Sun is ob- 
served to move through about 
two of its diameters in a day, and 
the Moon through twenty-six, 
both from west to east. 

If the path of the Moon coincid- 
ed everywhere with that of the 
Sun, it is clear that the Sun would 
be eclipsed at every new Moon. 
As it is, the Moon's path is in- 
clined at at angle of about five de- 
grees to that of the Sun, and inter- 
sects it at two diametrically oppo- 
site points of the heavens. These 
points are called the nodes. It is 
therefore only when the new Moon 
is at or near one of the nodes that 
an eclipse is possible. 

The apparent diameters of the 
Sun and Moon are nearly but not 
exactly equal. Again both are 
sometimes greater, sometimes less, 
because the distance of both the 
Sun and Moon are sometimes less, 
sometimes greater. 

If the two discs meet at or very 
near one of the nodes, and the 
Moon be at the time equal to or 
larger than the Sun, the eclipse 
will be total. 

If, when the two discs meet, the 
Moon be smaller than the Sun, 
the eclipse will be annular or 

If the two discs meet at a dis- 
tance, on either side of the nodes, 
of less than 18° the eclipse will be 
more or less partial. 

8, 1900. 

As the Moon is comparatively 
very near the Earth, the eclipse 
which is total for some observers, 
is partial for others, and alto- 
gether invisible for others. The 
shadow cast by the Moon on the 
Earth is, at most, about 170 miles 
in diameter, and the eclipse is 
total only in the small area swept 
over by that shadow. 

In the case of the eclipse of the 
28th of May, 1900, the diameter of 
the shadow was but 50 miles, and 
Mobile was on the southern lim- 
it of it. 

Since the Moon moves over 
twenty-six of its diameters in a day, 
while the Sun moves over two 
in the same time, it follows that 
everything takes place as if the 
Sun stood still, and the Moon 
moved over twenty-four diameters 
in a day, or one in one hour. The 
Moon consequently takes one hour 
to cover the Sun, and another 
hour to uncover it. The total 
eclipse thus lasts two hours from 
beginning to end. 

The totality of the eclipse, that 
is. the time during which the Moon 
will entirely cover the Sun, is 
necessarily much shorter. It will 
never be more than 6 or 7 min- 

The totality of our eclipse of the 
28th of May has only been 38 or 39 
seconds at Spring Hill. 

As we happened to be very near 
the limit of the Moon's shadow, it 
was calculated that the totality 
would last for us but a few 



seconds. A distinguished astron- 
omer, director of a Northern Ob- 
servatory, requested us to deter- 
mine this duration experimentally, 
thereby to test the accuracy of the 
mathematical calculations. The 
oscillations of the pendulum of a 
second-beating clock, connected 
with a telegraph sounder, were 
counted aloud distinctly and 
sharply by one of the Students of 
the graduating class, while the 
others, with their eyes fixed on 
the eclipse, wrote down on a paper 
the second of the beginning and. 
that of the end of the totality, as 
exactly as they could. Their re- 
sults have all been sent to the as- 
tronomer, who will interpret 

Eclipses of the sun are not in 
themselves rare occurrences. No 
year passes without two eclipses 
of the sun, and some years see as 
many as five. There are in fact 
more eclipses of the Sun than 
eclipses of the Moon. 

The series of eclipses of both 
the Sun and Moon repeats itself 
after a period of 18 years 11$ days, 
or, if there happen to be five leap 
years in the interval, 10 J- days. 
This period was known by the 
Chaldeans and called the Saros or 
Repetition. It usually contains 
about 70 eclipses, of which 29 are 
usually lunar and 41 solar, and of 
the solar 27 are central, 17 being 
annular and 10 total. 

The words usually and about, 
used in this connection, will sur- 
prise some of our readers. Is it 
impossible, they will ask, to find 
a period which will exactly en- 

compass the cycle of eclipses? 
The answer is: Yes, just as it is 
impossible, by any arrangement, 
to make such a correction of the 
calendar, that no other correction 
will ever be necessary at any fu- 
ture time. The quantities enter- 
ing into the problems are, in both 
cases, incommensurable. 

Although there are considerably 
more eclipses of the Sun than of 
the Moon, as the eclipses of the 
Sun are visible to but a small por- 
tion of the globe, whereas the 
eclipses of the Moon are visible 
at the same instant to a whole 
hemisphere, every man sees in his 
lifetime more eclipses of the Moon 
than of the Sun. The eclipse of 
the Sun is subjective, as it were ; 
that of the Moon is objective. In 
the former a few places are in the 
shadow of the Moon, and are hid- 
den from the Sun ; in the latter 
the Moon itself is immerged in 
the darkness of the shadow of the 
Earth, and is hidden from the eyes 
of all, whatever may be their posi- 

A curious mind may finally ask 
why there are more eclipses of the 
Sun than of the Moon. To under- 
stand this, draw, in your imagina- 
tion, straight lines (rays) grazing 
both the Sun and the Earth all 
around them. As the earth is 
smaller than the Sun these lines 
will meet, if produced, on the other 
side of the Earth. Whenever the 
Moon enters the space enclosed 
by these lines, there will be an 
eclipse. Kit enters this space be- 
tween the Sun and the Earth, 
there will be an eclipse of the Sun 



for some part of the Earth. If it 
enters this space on the side op- 
posite the Sun, there will be an 
eclipse of the Moon. Now it is 
evident that the space in question 
is greater between the Sun and 
the Earth, than on the other side, 

since it there tapers to a point, 
and therefore there is more room 
for eclipses of the Sun than for 
those of the Moon. 

I conclude here, fearing that I 
have already told my reader 
much that was not new to him. 
J. L. Danos, '00. 


JN the last number of the Review 
appeared an article on the Ori- 
gin of the Junior Band, a picture 
of which, as at present consti- 
tuted, will be found in this num- 
ber. A few words about the 
Senior Band, whose picture ap- 
years elsewhere, will not be out of 

As old as the College itself, the 
Senior Band, like the College, has 
had its vicissitudes, yet it has 
never, for a single session ceased 
to exist, but h. s always held its 
own and even more than distin- 
guished itself, when it has been 
fortunate enough to possess more 
than the usual amount of musical 

It does not come within the 
scope of the present notice, to 
sketch the history of the Senior 
Band. Suffice it to say that, first, 
under the name of the Spring Hill 
College Band — as it was known 
before the Junior Band came into 
being — then, later on, as the Excel- 
sior Band and finally, as the Senior 
Band, it has always been the most 
popular of our College organiza- 
tions. We shall not even recall 

any of its many glorious triumphs, 
which are more than creditable, 
even when stripped, of the gloss 
given them by the enthusiasm of 
the hour and the facile pen of a 
recording secretary. We shall 
only trace briefly the object of the 
Band and the place it holds in the 
routine of college life. 

"Our object," to quote from the 
Constitutions, "is to add solemnity 
to religious, mtional and literary 
festivals, and to give its members 
an opportunity of improving them- 
selves in the practice of instru- 
mental music." 

Accordingly, the Band makes 
its appearance, in full uniform, on 
the patronal feast of the College, 
St. Joseph's Day, on the Presi- 
dent's Day, and of course takes 
part in the solemn procession of 
Corpus Christi. It furnishes music 
for such days as Thanksgiving 
Day and Washington's Birthday, 
and for all College entertainments, 
also whenever the College is 
favored by the visit of a distin- 
guished guest, who, if he be con- 
versant with local etiquette, will 
return the compliment by giving 



a "holiday," or perhaps only a 
"half-a-day;" — the former, how- 
ever, is considered better form by 
the boys. 

In the month of February last, 
the Band gave a special concert, 
when, upon the receipt of new 
uniforms, three new silver-bur- 
nished instruments and a new silk 
flag, the members came out to 
thank publicly the Reverend 
President of the College, donor of 
the flag, for the interest he had 

so substantially manifested in 
their organization. 

The Senior Band is justly proud 
of their new flag, and they shall 
endeavor to preserve, for long 
years to come, the brightness of 
its stars and the beauty of its 
bars. Long may it float over a 
devoted band of ambitious and 
even accomplished musicians, 
whose aim shall ever be to rival the 
fame which their predecessors, in 
their palmiest days, have achieved! 
Wallace Prejean, '00. 


A CHICAGO merchant who 
paid us his first visit during 
the Carnival season was so sur- 
prised and delighted at what he 
saw in the Gulf City that, in an 
outburst of enthusiastic admira- 
tion, he exclaimed : " What a 
promising town you have down 
here. I had often heard of Mo- 
bile, but my impression of it was 
that of a Sleepy Hollow, and its 
people first cousins of Rip Van 
Winkle. But I come here and find 
a live and hustling city in the 
hands of wide-awake, pushy busi- 
ness men, who are building up a 
mammoth trade with the outside 
world. I don't wonder at your 
calling it the ' Queen of the 
Mexican Gulf.'" 

Thus it is; Mobile, the educat- 
ed, refined and courteous daugh- 
ter of the South has not sought to 
blazon its good qualities and pro- 
gressiveness to the world, but has 

always been content to attend to 
its affairs in its own conservative 
but effective way. 

Where the city now stands, the 
first French settlement, after 
Biloxi. in the Southern part of the 
United States, was made. Here, 
in 1700, Bienville, "the greatest of 
our colonizers," established the 
capital of old Louisiana. How 
great the revolutions that have 
taken place since that far distant 

Over its battlements have float- 
ed the flags of France, Spain, Eng- 
land aud the United States, and, 
for a short time, another, the Stars 
and Bars, that struggled to be re- 
cognized among nations, but 
which has now been furled for 
nearly two score years. 

Mobile, however, remains a 
quaint town with a quaint history. 
involved in many changes of mas- 
ters, since Bienville planted it and 



named it for the now extinct race 
of the "Maubilas." 

But, withal, it is a busy, Ameri- 
can city; and apart from its stores, 
its wharves, mills, work-shops and 
railways, it yet retains the sweet 
languor and aspect of peace, which 
belongs to towns of the South the 
world over. Majestic oaks and 
magnolias shade its streets, while 
the balmy rose and sweet jessa- 
mine scatter fragrance among the 
homes of its citizens. 

But the brightest jewel in the 
diadem of this Queen of the Gulf, 
is its pretty bay, looking out to 
the boundless sea. "Musicians," 
a great novelist has said, "may 
have the glorious bay of Naples, 
and enraptured poets sing of the 
matchless Como, but a lovelier 
sheet of water than Mobile bay 
never glistened in the sunlight of 

On the Eastern Shore of this 
bay lie the several villages and 
summer resorts of Daphne, Bat- 
tles, Point Clear and Montrose. 
These beautiful places are well 
patronized during the summer, be- 
cause of their delightful locations 
— with fine sea bathing and brisk 
sea breezes. 

All this makes Mobile, situated 
as it is in a sub-tropical climate of 
mild and even temperature, and 
protected by a long plateau from 
the sweeping northern blast, one 
of the healthiest spots in the Uni- 
ted States, and an ideal winter 
home. Hundreds of consump- 
tives from the North have been 
here restored to health, and a dis- 
tinguished physician has enthusi- 

astically declared: "The death 
rate is so low that were it not for 
the natural termination of life 
from senility, the population would 
be almost perpetual." 

Then may not we Spring-hill- 
ians say to our Northern friend 
of delicate physique : "Come 
South, young man. You will re- 
ceive here not only physical, but 
also plenty of intellectual nourish- 

The educational institutions of 
the city are numerous and varied; 
and Catholics are particularly 
well equipped. Each of its five 
parishes has parochial schools, 
for boys and girls, under the ef- 
ficient management of the good 
Sisters, or the Brothers of the Sa- 
cred Heart. For higher educa- 
tion there is the McGill Institute, 
an excellent day college. 

And should you object to resi- 
dence in the city limits, — do you 
wish to dwell in sylvan glades 
that look out on Mobile and its 
beauteous bay — "so near, yet not 
too far," — then take the Spring 
Hill car, and, if you are a girl, 
stop at the Visitation Academy; 
you will recognize it at once by 
its fine architecture and well kept 
grounds: but, if you are a boy, 
come out to Spring Hill, and you 
will find just what you are seek- 

Mobile has still written on its 
face the marks of an old Catholic 
city — even Talmage noticed it : 
"Mobile the city of churches! 
The church buildings are numer- 
ous, and some of them come very 
near being beautiful. Somebody 

BIENVILLE (After Margry). 

(From " Colonial Mobile," by Peter J. Hamilton, A.M ) 



wrote of California, 'all the towns 
are saints, and all the people sin- 
ners.' Here in Mobile the streets 
are the saints, and the people — 
I've found them most hospitable 
and kind." 

Now, what is the future of Mo- 
bile I It needs not a prophet, nor 
the son of a prophet, to forecast 

There flourishes all around her 
well-nigh every plant and flower 
and crop that grows. In the vir- 
gin forests and the great cotton- 
fields of Alabama, she is richer 
thau in gold. Her coal-fields are 
wider and deeper and of purer 
quality, and beneath her rich soil 
is concealed more iron ore than 
constitutes the treasuie of Eng- 
land. These mines are being 
gradually developed ; railroads in- 

tersecting the state connect Mo- 
bile with all the great centres 
of the country ; the channel of 
Mobile is deepening, and soon the 
largest ship that floats may an- 
chor at her docks. 

Cuba and the South American 
republics are at her doors. Her 
inexhaustible supplies of coal and 
iron can be shipped at incompara- 
bly less cost than those of Eng- 
land or Brazil. Soon the Nicara- 
gua Canal, now on the eve of 
realization, will open her various 
products to the markets of the 

Then may we not now say, and 
with greater emphasis, what CoK 
McClure said in 1895: "Mobile 
will become the chief city in our 
galaxy of prosperous cities on the 



" My fate is sealed ! " the envelope said, 

As it got a lick in the back ; 
''And 1 am very much afraid 

I'll have to join the stack. 

My face is stamped, and when I'm sent 

To go to any place, 
My stamp to th' agent 1 present 

And pass in on my face. 

"Altho' I have a good address, 

1 am not square, 'tis said ; 
My days I'll spend in great distress 

In th' office of the dead ! " 


The Spring Hill Review 


The Students of Spring Hill College, 



Address all Communications to 


Spring Hill College, Mobile, Ala. 


P. Antonin Lelong, '00. 

Associate Editors. 

J. M. Burguieres, '00. J. Douglas O'Brien, '00. 

Tisdale J. Touart, '01. Maximin D. Touart, '03. 

Athletic Editors. 
Fred Solis, '00. Jack J. McGrath, '02. 

Business Managers. 
Sam Apperious, '00. Henry L. Sarpy, '00. 

Advertising Managers. 
Edward B. Dreaper, '02. Joseph M. Walsh, '03. 



COMING On Wednesday, sion. Among these are Mr. J. Mc- 

ORDIIMATIONS. June 6th, the Creary, S. J., Mr. F. X. Twell- 

sacred priesthood will be con- meyer, S. J., Mr. E. Fazakerly, S. 

ferred by the Rt. Rev. Bishop J., and Mr. P. Cronin, S. J., who 

Allen of Mobile, on Mr. Thomas will be remembered as former 

S. Bamber, S. J., Mr. Rene professors of this College. Mr. J. 

Macready, S. J., and Mr. Julius McCreary S. J., is, moreover, an 

Remy, S. J. The ceremony alumnus of the Class of '86. 
will take place at Spring Hill 

in the College Church. The three ANNUAL The Students' An- 
candidates are well known here, RETREAT. nua l Retreat took 
and one of them, Mr. Remy, S. J., place on the 8th, 9th and 10th of 
was for three years on the teach- January last. The instructions 
ing staff of Spring Hill College. were given by Father J. F. O'Con- 
Just about three weeks later, at nor, S. J., an old student of 
Woodstock, Md., other Jesuits Spring Kill. Father O'Connor is 
will be elevated to t lie holy at present engaged in giving mis- 
priesthood for the Southern Mis- sions throughout the South. 






ciety, whose office it is every year 
to usher in the second school ses- 
sion, gave a very creditable en- 
actment of the "Rogue Outwitted" 
on Wednesday, February 7th. 
The Juvenile actors displayed un- 
usual intelligence in the interpre- 
tation and finished grace in the 
impersonation of their various 
roles. The repeated rounds of 
applause with which they were 
greeted were undoubted evidence 
of the favorable impression they 
produced on their audience. In 
fact, so well and naturally did 
each of the young players acquit 
himself that it were difficult to 
discriminate in our commendation 
of them. The program follows: 

Overture "Lustspiel" Keler Bela 

College Orchestra. 

A Comedy in Three Acts. 

Act I. "Honesty's the motto of my 
sign. 'Honest Plump' is the 
name I go by." 

Gypsy Dance ...Violin and Piano. ...Bohm 
S. Apperious. 

Act II. "That Ghostagain! Well, I've 
no fear of Ghosts." 

Avalanche Galop Dalbey 

Senior Brass Band. 

Act III. "Plump is a thief! Plump is 
a villain! 'Honest' Plump, be- 
come an honest man." 


Garrick, an Actor J. Walsh 

Plump, a Hotel-keeper E. Dreaper 

Blind, a Magistrate E. Powers 

Wilde, an Heir L. Blouin 

Gouvernet, an Artist M. Touart 

Gouvernet's Assistants .... { * * () o ,_ e 

t l j. v" il I J ) \ 

Attendants.- ■ { C. Coetei'lo 

Newsboy E. Costello 

Bob, the Cook W. Villamil 


J. Boudousquie 
H. Murray 

American Airs 

Junior Band. 

Flower Song Tobani 

College Orchestra. 

CLASS Since the lastap- 

EXHIBITIONS. pearance oi the 
REVIEW, three classes have given 
specimens of their work, each in 
its way quite interesting and in- 
structive. In fact the session of 
1899-1900 has been noted for its 
exceptionally fine exhibitions. 

On the 9th of March, First 
Grammar entertained the audi- 
ence with a brisk dramatic treat- 
ment of the "Conspiracy of Cati- 
line" in three scenes. Program: 

Overture Light Cavalry Suppe 


Scene I. Marcus Laecca's House The 
Plot Formed. 

"Thou must be our Chief! Sergius Catiline 
will lead us on to victory ! 

Scene II. The Senate Hall The Plot 


'"The darkness of the night has had eyes for 
thy infamous doings, and the walls of a private 
dwelling ears for the voice of thv murderous 

Scene III. The Same The Plot 


"The prisoners are doomed ! Catiline is 
no more ! ! Home is saved ! ! ! 


Cicero, Consul R. A. Flautt 

Cato M. D. Touart 

Caesar B. E. Welsh 

Silanus P. S. Cowley 

Catullus E. E. Villamil 


Catiline, Chief J.M.Walsh 

Lentulua J . C. Casserly 

Cethegus J. A. Boudousquie 

Gabinius A. H. H vmel 

Titus W. H. Villamil 

J. A. Kenoudet. D. J. Villamil. 

Waltz Die Erste Goetz 

Junior Band. 

March El Capitan Sousa 

Senior Baud. 



Second Grammar was next on 
the stage in April. Besides other 
minor subjects, the members pre- 
sented with rare histrionic skill 
three lively scenes from "Kip Van 
Winkle." Program: 

Overture .. ..Beatrice de Tenda Bellini 


Latin Recitation Gray's Elegy 

H. Murray. 

A Word for Algebra E. Costello 


Charon, Ferryman of the Styx 

P. Norville 
Menippus, a Cynic Philosopher.. F. Giuli 
Mercury, the God of Traders. L. Blouin 

Whistling Rufus Mills 

Scene I. "Sleepy Hollow." 
Scene II. Same, Twenty Years Later. 
Scene III. "The Union Hotel." 

Rip Van Winkle, a Dreamer.. E. Powers 
Rip Van Winkle, Jr., His Son ..M.Inge 

Jonathan Doolittle, Innkeeper 

J. Schnaider 
Herman Vedder, ] f H.Clark 

Derric Van Slaus, ? Villa- j W. Fossier 
Gustaffe Clausen, [ gers j C. Goette 
Brom Dutcher. J [ S. Lanata 

Swaggrino, a Genius of the Catskills.... 

J. Scott 
Villagers, Genii of the Catskills. 

March La Revue Desormes 

Junior Band. 

Finale.. ..The Union Forever March 

Senior Baud. 

In the beginning of May, 
Second Commercial closed the 
Exhibition season with two well 
acted scenes from '-The Dis- 
coverer of America." Program: 

Waltz Fesche Geister Strauss 


Introductory ..Our Exhibition 

S. Patout. 



Written by Clarence Costello. 

Scene I. The Royal Palace at Cordova. 

"The Admiral's Dream". ...Declamation 

P. Hale. 
Scene II. Convent of La Rabida. 


Ferdinand, King of Spain J. Brown 

Christopher Columbus C. Costello 

Duke of Medina \ 

Juan Perez, Prior of La Rabida j 

Friends of Columbus { R | a ^ 

Alonzode Quintauilla, Royal Treasurer 

G. Prejean 
Fernando de Talavera, a Doctor of Sal- 
amanca W. Burke 

Pedro Costa \ Astron- j W. Vincent 
Juan Gomez J omers t \ S. Otis 

Guards, Pages, &c O. Toups, C. Du- 

champ, V. Rougon. 

March .. .."The New Century" Brooke 

Junior Band. 

Finale ...Impromptu Overture ...Dalbey 

Senior Band. 

MAY CHOIR. The old custom of 
singing at Mass during the month 
of May is faithfully kept up 
this year. It is inspiring to 
see the enthusiasm with which all 
the boys join in the choruses, giv- 
ing a fine specimen of congre- 
gational singing. The soloists, 
Messrs. John Eice and Jean Bou- 
dousquie, have rich, musical and 
pathetic voices. The Hymn 
Books, secured by our kind Father 
President, are a choice collection 
of simple and devotional songs to 
Our Lady. 

BANQUETS. Among the impor- 
tant eveuts that enter into the ex- 
istence of each of the college or- 
ganizations, one which is never 
missed, and is looked forward to 
with eager longing is the Annual 
Banquet. The Philosophers had 
their class spread in the Delmon- 
ico Restaurant, in Mobile. The 
Choir, Altar Boys, Academies 
and Review Staff have at various 
times discussed menus prepared 
in Brother Black's Hotel. The 
Bands are also awaiting their ban- 



queting day, and the editors will 
soon do the honors about the fes- 
tive board in celebration of the 
second appearance of our College 
Magazine for this year. 

IMPROVEMENTS. The visitor to 
Spring Hill is at once struck by 
the amount of activity displayed 
in all parts of the grounds. The 
spanning of the ravine; the road- 
way of vitrified brick leading 
from the electric car track to the 
College ; the terraced Schillinger 
pavement walk to the lake; the 
dormitory building towards the 
northwest; the new kitchen, 
bakerv and infirmary ; the Junior 
Gymnasium and enlarged campus; 
the electric light system, — these 
are the principal works either in 
course of construction or to be 
begun within the next few months. 
Some will be completed for the 
opening of September. When the 
boys return to College, they will 
find things so revolutionized that 
they will say in the words of the 
well-known song : '-The old home 
ain't what it used to be." 

FIRST On Ascension 

COMMUNION. Thursday, eleven 
of the boys had the happiness of 
receiving their First Holy Com- 
munion. They were : Masters H. 
Burguieres, A. Darragh, L. Dar- 
ragh, L. Faget, S. Frederic, D. 
Hyrael, G. Lasseigne, D. Ory, J. 
Pino, L. R\an, W. Vincent. Dr. 
and Mrs. Faget, Mr. Hymel and 
two daughters, Mr. Ory, Mr. and 
Mrs. Lasseigne and daughter came 
to the College for the solemn 

BANDS. The Senior and Junior 
Bands are on a solid footing, and 
furnish delightful music on all 
public occasions and great festi- 
vals. They also play on Sunday 
afternoons for the entertainment 
of our numerous visitors. The 
Senior Band volunteered its ser- 
vices on May 8th at a lawn party 
given in town for the benefit of 
the Orphans' Fund. The Junior 
organization, though not quite so 
accomplished, make up in enthu- 
siasm what they lack in proficien- 
cy, and their appearance is 
eagerly looked forward to by their 
many admirers. Each band was 
lately presented with a beautiful 
silk American flag by our Rever- 
end President. As a mark of re- 
cognition of this favor they ten- 
dered their benefactor a joint 
serenade in the south porch. The 
Seniors make a fine showing in 
their new uniforms of white duck 
pants and gold-trimmed blue coats 
and caps. And to see them primp 
and brush and shine up for their 
Sunday afternoon performances! 

COLLEGE The orchestra, com- 
ORCHESTRA, posed of as cun- 
ning amateurs as ever drew the 
bow o; stroked the ivoried key r 
executed choice programs on two 
occasions at the McGill Institute 
in Mobile. One was a dramatic 
presentation of scenes from Sheri- 
dan's "The Rivals," by Mr. Chas. 
F. Underhill, for the Orphans' 
Benefit ; the other was the Ora- 
torical Contest for the Gold 
Medal. Too much praise cannot 
be conferred upon the youthful 



musicians and their leaders, the 
genial and devoted Professors 
Staub and Suffich. 

CARNIVAL. The time-honored 
Carnival procession was not over- 
looked this year. The eight or 
ten floats representing local fads 
and fancies preceded by appro- 
priate emblems formed a series 
of highly humorous and artistic 
tableaux. The "Mardi Gras Com- 
mittee" and the members of the 
Drawing Class are to be congrat- 
ulated on their able management 
and brilliant caricaturing and dec- 

The annual Shrovetide enter- 
tainment consisted of a double 
program, which follows: 

Overture — Marche Du Boeuf Gras — 



Ghost in a Pawn Shop — Sketch. 

Old Percentage (a pawnbroker) — 

H. Esnard 
Toby Nip (a srnark clerk). ..J. H. Ryan 

Peter (errand boy) T. J. Touart 

Ghost Anonymous 

Masquerade — Weber Orchestra 

Death of Virginia. Declamation 

P. A. Lelong. 

End of the Tether— Farce. 
Mr. Bland Smy le (Bubble Company Pro- 
moter) F. Solis 

Stephenson Gearing (An Enthusiastic 

Inventor) C. A. Lelong 

Lord Adolphus Firstwater, P. A. Lelong 
Lord Augustus First watt r..H. L. Sarpy 
John Gearing (Steward to the two 

Lords W. Rice 

Drudge W. Prejean 

Nibb8 j Clerks to Sm vie J D °'* ri e n 

Fubbs > I L. Dan os 

Jukes (a Detective) S. H. Apperious 

Bullford (an Escaped Forger) 

Finale— Haunting Eyes Tobani 


The orchestra discoursed some 
exceedingly good music, and all 
the actors acquitted themselves 
nobly. But the crowning event of 
the tntertainment, and the one 
that elicited the heartiest and 
the best merited applause of an 
appreciative audience, was Mr. P. 
A. Lelong's charming and soul- 
stirring declamation "The Death 
of Virginia." His hearers were 
held spellbound, and as he grace- 
fully retired from the stage, the 
hall rang with his praises. 

ELOCUTION On Wednesday, May 
CONTEST, the 17th, the candi- 
dates for the Elocution Gold Medal 
appeared before an intellectual and 
fashionable audience in the McGill 
Institute. There were seven con- 
testants whose names are found in 
the subjoined program : 

e PART I. 

Austrian Military March Czibulka 

College Orchestra. 

A Miser's Death, Anon 

John H. Ryan. 
Fantasia, II Trovatore,— Violin Solo, 


Samuel Apperious. 

Heart of the Bruce, Aida 

P. Arvtoninus Lelong. 

Rienzi's Address to the Romans Mitford 

AValter J. Rice. 

Beatrice Di Tenda, Bellini 

College Orchestra. 


The Conquered Banner,. ... Father Ryan 
Edward B. Dreaper. 

Caprice,— Flute Solo, Furstenau 

Prof. A. Suffich. 

In Defence of Liberty, Davis 

Tisdale J. Touart. 

Tabasco March Chadwic 

College Orchestra. 

Vindication, Emmett 

J. Douglas O'Brien. 

Death— Bed of Betiedict Arnold. Lippard 

Jack J. McGrath. 

High Life- Two Step Pleininger 

College Orchestra. 



The College Orchestra played in 
its usual brilliant style between 
the different declamations. The 
following gentlemen consented to 
act as judges of the contest : Rt. 
Rev. P. A. Allen, D. D., Bishop of 
Mobile; Rev. 0. T. O'Callaghan, 
D. D., V. G.; Rev. Jas. E. Coyle, 
President of the McGill Institute; 
Hon. Hannis Taylor, Gen. Joseph 
W. Burke, Col. J. J. Parker and Mr. 
Craighead, Editor of the Mobile 
Register. Hon. Mayor Bush and 
Col. E. L. Russell were prevented 
from acting as judges by unavoid- 
able absence. All who had the 
pleasure of attending the enter- 
tainment were outspoken in their 
appreciation of the oratorical treat 
they enjoyed and of the talent and 
skill displayed by the students. 
The fortunate speaker's name will 
be publicly made known on Com- 
mencement Day. 

BASE BALL. The College Nine 
has made a fine record for itself 
since the season opened, breaking 
even with its opponents. The 
Loyals have so far proved invin- 
cible. In the three games which 
they played with the College, they 
were victorious; the game of April 
22d, however, was won on an erro- 
neous decision of the umpire, who 
misinterpreted a rule. This mis- 
take proved disastrous to the home 
team. The following is a record 
of the games played : 

Jan. 14 — Loyals 11, College 6. 
March 11 — College 7, St. Vincents 5. 
April 1 — Loyals 5, College 1. 
Apr. 8— College 5, St. Vincents 1. 
April 22— Loyals 3, College 1. 
May 3— College 3, Picked Nine 0. 

The Senior League, composed 
of the Victor and Dixie Clubs, 
captained by Apperious and W. 
Prejean respectively, are playing 
a close series, of which there are 
four games left over. It is by no 
means certain who will be the 
winners of the gold pins, as may 
be seen from the present standing: 

Played. Won. Lost. Percent 

Dixies . 




The Junior League trophies have 
already been captured by the Lau- 
rels, who defeated the Myrtles 
fourteen times out of a total of 21 
games. Captain G. Prejean and 
his men feel jubilant over the 
crushing defeat they administered 
their opponents. The victorious 
team's roster is as follows: Cap- 
tain G. Prejean, Manager V. Eou- 
gon, H. Clark, A. Otis, E. Costello, 
S. Patout, J. Boudousquie, W. Fos- 
sier, Z. Eougon. Watch how 
proudly they will wear those 
bright emblems. 

The four clubs of both divisions 
have been fitted out with new 
uniforms of blue and maroon, 
which lend an attractive appear- 
ance to the wearers. But the team 
that holds their heads highest are 
the College Nine with their cream 
white suits and purple caps. If 
you did not know them, you 
would mistake them for profes- 
sionals as they strut out upon the 

Basket ball was very popular 
among the seniors for a time. They 
found it an exciting sport. 

How gladly the bathing season 



was welcomed ! What a royal 
time we have of it in our peerless 

MR. E. CAVALLl. i n March last 
we received a visit from Mr. E. 
Cavalli, Editor of L'ltalo-A- 
mericano of New Orleans, who, on 
his return, wrote a glowing ac- 
count of his visit and of the advan- 
tages possessed by Spring Hill. 
He also illustrated his article with 
a reprint of the College, which 
appeared in the January Eeview. 

death OF None knew 

MR. JOSEPH RICE. him but to 

love him. Now he has gone — left 
us during the bright month of 
May. The Review extends its 
sympathy to the entire family, but 
more especially to the three sons 
of the deceased, who are all 
Springhillians. Mr. Joseph Eice, 
of New Orleans, was a true Chris- 
tian gentleman and devoted 
father. His presence was sun- 
shine to his host of friends, who 
mourn his departure. R. I. P. 

TOTAL The eclipse of 

SOLAR ECLIPSE. May 28th was 
successfully viewed by the Scien- 
tific Class from the College cupola. 
In regard to the observations 
made, the Mobile Register of May 
29th, says : 

The eclipse was carefully watched at 
Spring Hill College yesterday morn- 
ing. The observation was made under 
the direction of Father Wagner, the 
professor of sciences at the college. 
Owing to a fog or mist similar to that 
which obstructed the view at other 
points near the city, only the eclipse 
proper could be seen, none of the at- 
tending phenomena being visible. 

Asked as to the results, Father Wag- 
ner said yesterday evening that he was 
well satisfied with what had been ac- 
complished. "Some time ago," said 
Father Wagner, "I received a letter 
from Father William Rigge, of the 
Creighton University at Omaha, asking 
me to have my class take the observa- 
tion. As near as I can understand 
the father desired to obtain some in- 
formation regarding the location of 
the centre of the moon, which it ap- 
pears is yet in doubt, or rather is a 
matter of difference of opinion. He 
asked for none of the attending phe- 
nomena, but merely for the eclipse it- 
self. The weather was exactly suited 
for the purpose. It was sufficiently 
clear for the eclipse to be seen easily, 
while the attention of the class was not 
called away from the main purpose by 
the appearance of any of the stairs or 
lights. We timed the totality, and 
found it lasted between 38 and 39 sec- 
onds. The graduating class only took 
the observation, and their original pa- 
pers, each signed by the scholar him- 
self, will be forwarded to Father Rigge." 

AN INTERESTING It were need- 
STORY. less for us to 

speak further words of commen- 
dation about "Little Orphan Annie 
and Her Friends" by Miss Mary 
A. McGill of Mobile, (O'Shea & 
Co., New York), after the gifted 
authoress of "Leaves from the 
Annals of the Sisters of Mercy," 
has declared that "from beginning 
to end it does not contain a dull 
chapter." We cannot, however, 
refrain from calling attention to 
the delightful simplicity of style, 
the skilful yet natural unfolding 
of the plot, the truthful presenta- 
tion of child character, the life- 
like portrayal of the almost ex- 
tinct old colored "Mammy," all 
offset by a soft tinge of local 



coloring, which lend the book a 
charm peculiarly its own. 

OUR Since our last is- 

EXCHANGES. sue many of the 
representative College Magazines 

have been welcomed to our sanc- 
tum. The principal were : — the 
Georgetown Journal, Ford ham 
Monthly, Holy Cross Purple, Dial, 
Shamrock, Mungret Annual, St. 
Mary's Chimes, Xavier. 



Our alumni jottings are still 
scanty. Many fail to send us 
word about themselves, and in 
consequence they and their 
achievements are overlooked. On 
the other hand, some few have 
nobly come forward to do honor 
to their Alma Mater. May this 
chosen number increase ! We 
would call particular attention to 
the able contributions of Hon. 
Geoige Henry Theard, '73, Hon. 
John St. Paul, '84, Mr. Herbert 
Lyons, '99, and especially to the 
touching letter written by Mr. S. 
Spencer Semmes, '55, and quoted 
in these notes. It has the true 
golden ring of loyalty about it. 

'46. About three weeks ago, we 
received a flying visit from Dr. J. 
D. Alison, of Carlowville, Dallas 
county, Ala. He was a school- 
mate of Bishops Manucy and Pel- 
licer, and of N. H. R. Dawson, 
ex-Commissioner of Education. 
Bishop Portier was President of 
the College at the time, Dr. Ali- 
son having left in 1846, the year 
before the Jesuits took charge. 
During this long stretch of over 

half a century, he had not once 
returned to his Alma Mater. 
Needless to say. he could recog- 
nize nothing about the place ex- 
cept the lake. 

'51. We sincerely regret our ina- 
bility to publish, as we had in- 
tended, a sketch of one of the 
greatest of Spring Hill's alumni, 
Hon. Edward E. Bermudez, Chief 
Justice of the Supreme Court of 
Louisiana, who passed to his re- 
ward in August, 1892. We were 
kindly furnished with the mate- 
rials for such a sketch, and also 
with a photograph of the Judge 
by his grandson, Mr. Z E. Bermu- 
dez, of New Orleans. It will form 
a fitting subject for the New Cen- 
tury number of the Review. 

'55. Upon the receipt of a copy 
of the last Review, Mr. S. Spen- 
cer Semmes, '55, a son of the Ad- 
miral, wrote us as follows from 
Osceola, Ark., under date of Jan- 
uary 26th, 1900 : 

I notice in your very creditable issue 
of January 1900, in the Alumni De- 
partment, a query as to who is the 
oldest living graduate of Spring Hill 



College since the death of Judge Ber- 
mudez, and an intimation that it is 
Charles Mauri an, now living in Paris. 
Charles Mauri an and I were classmates 
for a number of years and fellow-gradu- 
ates in 1855. Often do I recall to mem- 
ory the faces and scenes of my college 
days — the happiest days of my life — at 
old Spring Hill. How few of the dear 
old Jesuits and of my companions re- 
main. The courtly Father Gautrelet, 
the jovial Father Imsand, the musical 
Father Yenni, the learned Father 
Gache, Father Lespes, Father Free, 
Father Adams; all long since gone to 
join the Order above. And, of my fel- 
low-students, I know of but few sur- 
viving. The two Morphys, Bermudez, 
Shaw, Stewart, LeBaron, Landry, Foley, 
Sims and numerous others — many of 
them younger men than I — have one 
by one, passed away. 

Wishing your periodical success, and 
that it may become the medium of en- 
abling the Spring Hill boys to keep in 
better touch with each other, 
I remain respectfully, 


Mr. Semmes, who, at the age of 
sixty-two is a robust and active 
man, enjoys an extensive law 
practice in his resident town. He 
served in he First Louisiana 
Kegulars during the Civil War. 
Some time afterwards, he was 
City Attorney of Mobile for one 
year. He is the proud father of 
thirteen children, all living except 
one. His third son, Mr. Oliver 
M. Semmes, S. J., now finishing his 
theological studies in Woodstock, 
Md., was a member of the Spring 
Hill Faculty in the early nineties. 

'69. Rev. John Brislan, S. J., of 
the class of '09, President of the 
College of the Immaculate Con- 
ception, New Orleans, honored us 

with his presence for about a 
week during the middle part of 
May. The Bands serenaded him 
and he gave the boys an interest- 
ing talk about old times and also 
a half-holiday. 

numa augustiim. ld college- 
mates, Father Brislan mentioned 
Major Joseph Numa Augustin, of 
New Orleans, who departed this 
life last March. He was a staunch 
Catholic, a philanthropic citizen 
and noted jurist, served as State 
Senator for two terms and stood 
high in social, military and politi- 
cal circles. The indirect cause of 
Major Augustin's decease is at- 
tributed to the death of his oldest 
son, Lieutenant J. Numa Augustin, 
>90, U. S. A., who was killed at the 
battle of San Juan Hill, July 2nd, 
1898. The fond father never re- 
covered from the cruel blow. 

REV. HENRY C. Kev. Henry C. 

semple, S.J. Semple, S.J.,was 
also a student at the College in 
the sixties. He is a native of 
Montgomery, Ala., and received 
his ecclesiastical education in the 
American College at Koine. Fr. 
Semple lately occupied for four 
years the post of President of the 
Jesuit College in New Orleans. 
At present he is engaged in mis- 
sion work in middle and northern 
Alabama. He made a short so- 
journ among us last month. 

MR.SHER- About this same 
WOOD HALL, period, Mr. Sher- 
wood Hall of Grand Kapids, Mich- 
igan, was at Spring Hill. This 



gentleman, during his late visit, 
was delighted to see the improve- 
ments made in his College Home. 

'73. The Review congratulates 
Hon. George Henry Theard, '73, 
on his re appointment as Judge of 
the Civil District Court, Division 
B, of the Parish of Orleans, La. 

'73. Hon. E. Bermudez, '73, a son 
of the famous Louisiana jurist, fills 
the chair of Justice in the Third 
City Court of New Orleans. After 
leaving Spring Hill, he went to 
Fordham, N. Y., and then to the 
Columbia Law School, where he 
graduated in 1876. 

'75. H. P. HntSHFIELD, M. D., 

'75, whose picture graces our 
pages, is one of the many of our 
alumni who have met with de- 
served success in professional 
ranks. Born in Gainesville, Ala., 
just forty-six years ago, he moved 
to Mobile with his parents in 
1867. Entering Spring Hill Col- 
lege two years afterwards, he 
graduated with honors as A. B. in 
1875, and received the degree 
A. M. three years later. He at- 
tended one session at the Univer- 
sity of Virginia, and two at the 
University of Pennsylvania. The 
latter institution conferred upon 
him the degree M. D. in 1878. Dr. 
Hirshfield took up his residence 
in Mobile and soon, by his assi- 
duity and congenial manners 
built up a large practice. He is 
a member of the Mobile County 
Medical Society, and is now serv- 
ing his twelfth year as Coroner of 
the County. He occupies the re- 

sponsible position of Medical Ex- 
aminer for several Insurance Com- 
panies and the Fraternal Orders. 
The doctor has a host of friends, 
whom he has won and now re- 
tains by his sunny disposition and 
by his true-hearted generosity 
and loyalty. 

'77. We learn with pleasure that 
Hon. Paul Leche, '77, ex-Mayor 
of Donaldsonville, has secured 
the judgeship of his district. 

'83. Dr. William R. Harnan, '83, 
a prominent physician of New 
Orleans, has gone to his rest 
since our last issue. After his 
graduation as A. B., he studied 
medicine at the Louisiana Univer- 
sity, novv Tulane, and finished 
with distinction in 1887. He im- 
mediately attained a successful 
practice. Dr. Harnan was secre- 
tary of the State Board of Health 
under Dr. S. R. Oliphant's first 
administration in 1892, where he 
remained for four years. He was 
examiner of claimants for pensions 
under the second Cleveland ad- 
ministration. In both positions 
he established a reputation as be- 
ing a man of trust. The many 
who remember his pleasant man- 
ners are deeply grieved that he 
should be taken away when the 
promise of his life was yet unful- 
filled, although he had already 
established a firm position for 

'84. Hon. John St. Paul, '84, 
whose portrait we reproduce on 
another page, has recently been 
nominated to succeed himself as 



judge of Division C. of the Civil 
District Court of Orleans Parish, 
La. The Review extends its fe- 
licitations to the distinguished 
Springhillian. We gave a short 
sketch of the Judge in our Easter 
issue of 1899. It will be remem- 
bered that he is a native of Mobile 
and for a time served on the staff 
of the Register. 

' 87 - Hon. Thomas J.Duggan, '87, 
has also been favored with a re- 
nomination. He will retain his 
seat on the judicial bench of the 
First Criminal Court of Orleans 
Parish for another term. 

'91- Among those upon whom 
the degree of A. M. will be con- 
ferred on Commencement Day is 


Judge St Paul is a man of ex- 
tensive learning, and has filled 
most acceptably the high position 
to which he was called, and his 
decisions have given universal 
satisfaction, while his courteous 
treatment of the bar has made 
him hosts of friends. He is a 
polished gentleman and a great 

Karl Hetjsner, M. D., '91. 
Dr. Heusner, though not yet twen- 
ty-eight years of age, is one of 
the leading physicians of Hon- 
duras, his native state. He en- 
tered the Church while at Spring 
Hill, and was the recipient of 
several gold medals. He first 
studied medicine at the Tulane 
University, La., where he re- 



ceived the degree M. D., with spe- 
cial mention, and afterwards per- 
fected his course in Philadelphia, 
graduating M. D. cum laude from 
the Medico-Chirurgical College 
in 1895. He then obtained, by 
a competitive examination held 
in Philadelphia, the appointment 
of physician in charge of St. Jo- 
seph's Hospital, Lancaster, Pa., 
where he spent a year. Return- 
ing home, Dr. Heusner com- 
menced the practice of medicine, 
in which he has met with eminent 
success. He is now a member of 
the District Board and Board of 
Health of Belize. We welcome 
him back to his Alma Mater, 
upon whose fair name he has shed 
such great lustre. 

'91. Mr. D.J. McDonald, '91, of 
Mobile, is Secretary and Treasu- 
rer of the D. J. McDonald & Co.'s 
Marble Works, and is conducting 
a splendid business in his special 
line. His firm has the contract 
for putting up the grand bronze 
heroic statue of Admiral Semmes, 
and also for erecting the mortuary 
chapel in the Spring Hill College 
Cemetery. Mr. McDonald is also 
Secretary and Treasurer of the 
Yellow Pine Lumber Company. 

'93. a few months ago, death 
claimed as his own Mr. Maxime 
Boulet, '93, and a week afterwards 
laid low his noble-hearted father, 
the genial Colonel N. P. Boulet, 
of Mobile. 

'94. Dr. E. J. Trahan, '94, of New 
Orleans, who made a brilliant 
course of medicine at Tulaue, is 

now enjoying a handsome prac- 
tice. He has an office in the Med- 
ical Building. 

'95. Dr. Gabriel Boudousquie, 
Jr., '95, (not Paul, as stated in our 
last,) is the author of the drama 
entitled "The Poet." 

•96 and '98. The degree of A. M. 
will this year be conferred on Dr. 
George Drouin, '96, and Mr. Ed- 
ward B. Colgin, '98, medical stu- 
dent of Georgetown University. 
With them, as before mentioned, 
Dr. Karl Heusner, '91, will like- 
wise be honored. 

'97. Mr. Alvin Edward Hebert, 
'97, is a successful attorney in the 
Crescent City. He has not for- 
gotten his Alma Mater, and occa- 
sionally informs his friends of his 
doings. We should be delighted 
if others of our alumni would fol- 
low his example and give us an 
inkling of their whereabouts. Mr. 
Hebert kindly sent us a Catalogue 
of the Tulane Alumni, at which 
institution he studied law after 
leaving Spring Hill. 

'98. Mr. William O. Daly, '98, of 
Mobile, has adopted the stage as 
a profession and is a member of 
the company of which Mr. Cres- 
ton Clarke is the leading man. Mr. 
Daly has met with favor and speaks 
in glowing terms of his prospects. 
He certainly possesses rare dram- 
atic qualities, and his friends would 
like to see him meet with un- 
bounded success as a wearer of 
the buskin. 



'99- Mr. Forest Braud, '99, and 
Mr. Albert Fossier, '99, are both 
engaged in the study of medicine at 
Tulane University, New Orleans. 
In our last, we mis-stated the pur- 
suits of these two gentlemen. 

'01. Mr. Herbert Smith of the 
class of '01, of Franklin, La., has 
received a nomination for West 
Point and left a fortnight ago to 
make special preparations for the 
entrance examination. Our best 
wishes accompany him. 



L. D. S. 

Spring Hill College, 


^ £=©=»({= 

PRING HILL COLLEGE is built on a rising ground, five miles 
distant from Mobile and elevated one hundred and fifty feet 
above the sea-level. It enjoys a constantly refreshing breeze, 
which renders its situation both agreeable and healthy. The sur- 
rounding woods afford the most pleasant summer walks. A never- 
failing spring at the foot of the hill, and within the College grounds, 
furnishes an abundant and lasting supply of water to a beautiful lake 
where the students may safely enjoy the beneficial exercise of swim- 
ming. Long experience has proved that, owing to its position, the 
College is entirely exempt from those diseases which prevail at certain 
seasons in the South. 

The College was incorporated in 1836 by the Legislature of 
Alabama, with all the rights and privileges of a university, and 
empowered in 1840 by Pope Gregory XVI. to grant degrees in 
Philosophy and Theology. 

The Directors of the Institution are members of the Society of 
Jesus which, from its origin, has devoted itself to the education of 
youth. They will endeavor to show themselves deserving of the con- 
fidence reposed in them by evincing on all occasions a paternal solici- 
tude for the health and comfort of those entrusted to their charge, 
by sparing no pains to promote their advancement, and by keeping 
a careful and active watch over their conduct. The exercise of 
their authority will be mild without being remiss, in enforcing that 
strict discipline and good order so essential for the proper culture 
of both mind and heart. By this two-fold education, which is based 
upon Religion and Morality, they will exert all their energies not 
only to adorn the minds of their pupils with useful knowledge, but 
also to instil into their hearts solid virtue and a practical love of the 
duties which they will have to discharge in after life. 

The public worship of the Institution is that of the Catholic Re- 
ligion ; however, pupils of other denominations are received, provided 
that, for the sake of order and uniformity, they are willing to con- 
form to the exterior exercises of worship. 

The plan of instruction is established on a large scale, and is cal- 
culated to suit not only the wants, but the progress of society. It 
consists of three principal courses under the names of Preparatory, 
Commercial and Classical. 

French, German, Spanish, Italian, form separate courses, are 
optional, and are taught without extra charge. 

Extensive grounds, spacious buildings, commodious class rooms, 
library, reading rooms, billiard and recreation rooms, and the largest 
and best equipped college gymnasium in the South, afford every facil- 
ity for the self-improvement and physical well-being of the student. 

For catalogue, &c, apply to Rev. W. J. Tyrrell, S. J., President. 



Immaculate Conception, 

Corner Common and Baronne Streets, 

This literary institution, incorporated by the State of Louis- 
iana, and empowered to confer degrees, is conducted 
by the Fathers of the Society of Jesus. Pupils 
from the time of their arrival till their depart- 
ure are constantly secluded and 
The course of instruction is threefold : Preparatory, 
Commercial and Classical. 
French is taught in the three courses. 
The moral and religious training of the students is the lead- 
ing object of the intructors. 
Every month a report is sent to parents, stating conduct, 

progress, rank in class and attendance. 
Tuition, payable in abvance, per month, $6.00.